Tomorrow we have an appointment with an Immunologist. To look at why our youngest is continually sick with Strep throat infections.
My concern is that while fighting one of these Strep infections, her poor little immune system will be so run-down, so weak that if she contracts some other virus (like Croup- which she had a few times last winter) she will not be able to fight off the virus.

like Reece.

I told the Dr that treated Gabrielle most recently (for an ear infection, which was treated by I.V. antibiotics- which in my opinion is pretty extreme not to mention traumatic) that history was going to repeat itself. It was literally playing-out before our eyes. Our worst nightmare, all over again.

Why was no one coming to our rescue?
Why wasn't there a Dr, a Specialist, a Scientist, ANYONE, coming to our aide and saying "HEY, we hear you! We understand how perilous this is! We won't just throw you the everyday treatment and the minimum required attentiveness. We will protect your daughter. We will take care of your family!"

No. Don't be fooled by naivety and false-idols.
If you want your child to be protected, if you want your child's best interests looked after- you better plan to do it yourself.

Tonight I decided to head to this appointment with as much information I could possibly provide. The Immunologist is going to look at Reece's medical history and Gabrielle's. I told him I would bring immunization reports and my copy of the official autopsy findings.

I had not read the autopsy results.

It took about 7 months or so to get the results. I believe they are dated July 2008. It was torture waiting for that envelop to come to us in the mail. I had hoped it would find an answer. Put a name to whatever it was that took her away from me. Give me something to be angry at. Give me something to hate, instead of myself. At least for a moment.
But by the time it came, our Dr had already got a copy, and had summarized it in a few sentences for us. She said it was likely a virus, something unknown, Reece was already so sick... etc
So I never looked past the first page. Not past the first line honestly.

But tonight as I grabbed the pile of papers out of the plastic tote we have filled with Reece's keepsakes, I thought I should read it. Maybe there was something in there that I should know. Maybe there was something that would help me form some helpful questions for tomorrow's appointment.
I wasn't wrong. But I certainly wasn't prepared for the wave of sickening grief that came over me.
As I read through the first page, I realized that this person writing it, was very 'official', they were following a process which they probably did daily. And Reece was just another 'body'. Just another number.
To say it 'hurt' to hear the Coroner describe my baby, Reecey, in such a way would be too simple.
The Coroner has to describe every little detail. Of course, I understand this.
But some things hurt so horribly, I don't have the words to describe it.
The Coroner noted the clothing she was in. It was noted that her jammie pants were dirty.

I broke down in uncontrollable sobs at that point.

I remember holding her in the Emergency room, after the nurses wrapped her little body in a hospital blanket and gave her to me for the last time.

The last time I held my baby, she was in a hospital blanket. She looked like she was sleeping.

I remember thinking at some point, either at the hospital, or after, that her 'blankie' was dirty. Of course it was, she took it everywhere. And yes her jammies probably were dirty. She was a busy toddler, into everything.

I had never read this report. But it had always bothered me that she may have looked untidy. Honestly it's always in the back of my mind when we go to the Dr now with Gabrielle.

I've never told anyone this.

But before we go to the Emergency with Gabrielle I always make a mental note of what she is wearing. I guess it's always in the back of my mind, what if this is the last outfit she is in. As if a yogurt spot on a comfy shirt, is somehow a black mark on my parenting. But somehow, it makes me question - will they think I don't love her if she's wearing old pajamas instead of a cute matching outfit?

I'm sure this all sounds ridiculous to some people. But to me I have always worried what people thought. I worry that if I go to the Dr too much, someone will think I'm a hypochondriac and therefore not a fit parent. If I don't go, then I'm neglectful. It's a quandary, and I'm continually trapped in it.

Needless to say, to have it pointed out, officially, on a report, by a stranger, that my baby had dirty jammie pants on, and no shirt (they cut it or took it off her at some point)... it hurt to hear it.
I don't want strangers to pass judgement on my level of love or commitment to my daughter. And really I shouldn't care. But I do. It's what I do, it's who I am. It's the way my mind works I suppose.

But as I said earlier, I wasn't wrong to think that there may be something in the autopsy report that may be helpful for Gabrielle's appointment tomorrow. There wasn't a lot of info in there but I do have questions. The finding was that she died of 'sepsis'. But how she got to that point, or what put her at perhaps a higher risk of getting to the point of being that sick, is what we need to know, in order to protect Gabrielle.

Hopefully answers will be provided sooner rather than later.

Fumbling Towards Something

Lately I've been fumbling through. I thank the universe (and Reece) for bringing Gabby to us. She was a bright light in our dark existence to be sure. But now that she has surpassed Reece in age, which I was reminded a few days ago, I have lost again.

Until recently we could reminisce as if Reece were still in the room. Laugh about her milestones, compare her linguistic prowess to Gabrielle's pirate-like baby-lingo, and see glimmers of Reece's impish ways through Gabby's dare-devilish physicality. It's what parents do. Compare one child to another, and relish the differences, adore their uniqueness. Excite in what will come, and is yet to compare.

There's nothing now.

Reece is gone. Her time cut short at only 20 months.

I remember her as being so much more, than just 20 months. She had a 'way of knowing' that was beyond her.

But I'll never know who she would have become.

And again I count my losses. They seem to add up lately. One after another.

Maybe it's the time of year, that makes it difficult, but lately she is constantly on my mind.

Gabrielle turns 2 in a month. Normally I'd be planning, excited, looking forward to the occasion and bringing people together.

But now, it's all I can do not to cry all day at work. The mere glimpse of a thought of Gabby's birthday makes me sad. A picture of her and Aiden on my computer screen, serves as just another painful reminder that there is a 3rd child missing from the trio that should have been.

Christmas this year will be much like the year we lost her. She and Gabby so close in age, it will be hard not to be consumed with thoughts of her, and it will take everything in me to not let my grief overshadow the seasons festivities for the girls.

I already feel a pressure to 'keep up appearances' for everyone else starting and we are still months away from Christmas. Gabby was a great distraction while it lasted, but I suppose I knew all along that eventually I'd have to face facts- everyone moves on,

no matter how hard you dig in your heels.

It's what I've always done. Find distractions to focus on, rather than dealing with what is in front of me.

I am trying desperately not to give in to my strong desire to completely break with tradition this year and do something different. I suppose to avoid the impending 'performance' I'll have to put on, for family and friends, neighbours and colleagues. That "yay, great ! It's the holidays. Grrrreat an entire week off " to sit at home and remember Reece isn't here to share it with us.

Maybe I'll find some wisdom in some readings this week. Until then, I'll guess just keep fumbling.

The reinvention of Mom.
Or grasping at straws……… mid life crisis or mid-mania survival….
It could be many things, this latest phase I have fallen into. But none the less, here I am.
As far as we’ve come in our grieving process, I am still very much, stuck.
I’ve been filled with pure joy, adding Gabs (Gabrielle that is) to our family. And with high hopes and positive thoughts I started a brand new job at the end of my maternity leave; with a huge organization, with many future possibilities. Perhaps I could upgrade my education over the years, or bump around the organization trying new things, really there were a lot of options.
However, after a number of months I’ve realized I am doing nothing more than treading water.
Putting in time, for a huge organization that is just that… a HUGE organization. I was a number. A number at the bottom.
I’ve recently come to the realization that my socialization has really screwed me over. A daughter of the modern ages, I’ve been taught I can do anything boys can do, AND all that my mother did.
Having never really know who I was or what I wanted I only clung to one truth.
I wanted a family. A family that included a cozy home, with children, relatives and friends we called relatives that came and went freely.
A bit idealistic to be sure but not entirely out of reach. Not beyond reality. I wasn’t dreaming of being an astronaut or brain-surgeon (I hate math).
Unfortunately reality being what it is, girls have to bend and break their daydreams to fit reality.
Where am I going with this you wonder?
I’ve decided that although I may never find a true career, that makes me jump out of bed in the morning and desire to work long days; at least I can make the rest of my life extra meaningful and fulfilling to make up the difference.
Which brings me to SRDL.
What is God’s name is SRDL? What is MummyAnge up to now?
WELL! I believe I have found my tribe. At the very least I’ve had an epiphany!
SRDL stands for Saskatoon Roller Derby League. Yes, roller, as in roller-skates; and, no, I have never done this before. Although I had looked into it a few years ago I was unsuccessful in finding any information about the local league. As happenstance would have it, at a Ladies Night at the local Dundurn bar, a woman announced that this league did in fact exist and we were welcome to come on out and try.
First, if you know me, and this is the first you are hearing of this, you are likely shocked. I am not athletic by any stretch of the imagination. In addition, to go try something new, potentially (STRONG potential) to embarrass and injure myself, goes against everything my anxiety-prone personality would typically allow. But I’m doing it.
I decided I needed something for me; something that my daughters can respect and perhaps aspire to. Something to stop my mind from thinking about all the issues we are having at home, with grief, with challenges with our children, with work, with council and community commitments and on and on.
I feel myself mesmerized by the skill, grace and confidence of the senior members of the SRDL. It's inspiring, and intimidating. I imagine in those moments of awe, I'm feeling what Reece felt when she'd watch kids on Barney sing & dance or hear a piano playing- completely absorbed in the moment and wondering "how can I do that?".
My hope is that by entering into a new and positive ‘obsession’ I can honor Reece by being a better mom, partner and person.

What you can't know

Things are not always this bad...however, truth be told- it's always somewhere just under the surface. Grieving the loss of a child, is a pain that lays in wait. Waiting for your weakest, quietest moments. And in those times, when I've been run down, tired, fed up with the day-to-day - it takes hold.
This is what I think about in those moments:


You can't know the pain that makes me sick to my stomach, late at night when the house is quiet and I am struck, with the very real fear that I may forget her smell.

You can't know what I grieve for late at night, when my girls sleep and I am terrified someone's God will steal them too.

You can't know the terror I feel late at night, when I realize that the world around me has moved on, and never remembers her, and who she'd be right now, what she'd be doing, how she'd be playing, how she would be loving all of us.

You can't know what it is to loose the star of the show, the light of my life, my reason for being.

You can't know this pain. Mother Nature will not allow it. It runs too deep. Your world would stop. You wouldn't forget.

You can't know how alone this is, and how much on these nights, I would give everything to be with her for just one moment.


Just one.

And as much as I beg and plead for that one moment, I can't have it.

I feel her slipping further away and there is nothing I can do. Nothing you can say.

Because you can't know.

A Complaint Free World

I read today; an idea.
What if THIS is heaven?
I thought about this briefly and my first instinct was to panic a bit about how little time I may have here... and also the thought of - "then what"?
The question came from a book I've been reading about positive thought. The author was thinking aloud about the idea that life is what you make it.
Which I find refreshing considering the source. The author from what I understand is a preacher from a Christian Church in the United States. And I felt comforted, I suppose, that even someone with a strong belief system still questions the 'hear after'; and basically suggests "you better make this life really great, cause this could be all you have".
I've had a difficult time being positive since losing Reece. It certainly would be difficult for me to accept that this life I have had, has been my self-created version of heaven.
As far as I'm concerned, the past couple years have held more heart ache and pain then any version of hell I'd ever imagined.
After thinking a bit more I called my mother-in-law to come sit with the kids while I went to sit with Reece at the cemetery.
It's the most beautiful day.
Sunny, breezy and clear.
Her cemetery is the ultimate 'prairie experience'- a wide open expanse, defined by a hedge and surrounded by farmland. Nothing but blue sky going on and on forever.
There are a dozen or so pink roses in her vase on the monument. They all hang their head. As if they too feel as gutted and empty as I do in that moment.
When I first sat down (after first feeling offended by the state of the grass and large dandilions gone to seed) I intended on writing.
But instead I placed some small bright-yellow daisy-like flowers in with the sad pink roses.
A stark contrast.
The symbolism was not lost on me.
Reece was the sun in my life.
I cried and for the first time since I was a child I spoke to 'God'. I asked for a sign. Something tangible.
Some way of knowing that I'll see her again.
That 'this' isn't IT.
My thoughts turned immediately to Gabby and I thought perhaps that, that is my only sign. Maybe the sign that things will get better is that I am still here, despite my many pleas for God to take me too; so I could be with her.
I am still here and therefore, I must make it better myself.

Now, as I type this a few weeks removed from when I wrote it originally, I'm left to still wonder, what if this is it- I'm empowered now to make 'THIS" better but have not given up the small hope that there is something after this world.

reality strikes

re-typed from a journal entry written Sunday May 31.

It's a sunny day. 12 noon. The town is buzzing with activity. Out my breezy bedroom curtain I can hear Aiden running around the house, the porch door banging in the wind, a few lawn mowers working away, our dog's collar tags jingling as he runs through our yard. I lay on my bed tears streaming watching Gabby sleep on my bed.
Again today reality hit me. Reminding me of what I have lost. Kathy- Grant's Mom, who lives a block away found a box of Reece's clothing and other items (a Dora doll etc) in her garage. Grant and I looked through it quickly, most of it was new clothes that she had not worn yet. Most still had the tags on. I could barely remember the items. But there was a pair of light blue jeans and a light aqua blue t-shirt, that I thought I could remember her wearing. I often dressed her in blues because of her amazing blue eyes- like nothing I'd seen before. Like she could see through you.
In the faint hope of holding on to her in some small way I smelled the shirt.

I can barely write this as I now know how painful it was in that moment, and is now, to realize her smell was not on that shirt. Then I cried with the realization that all trace of her existence here in our home here in our world has been erased by time. I can barely remember her smell.

Right now I look at Gabby and with that I could hold her the way I would hold Reece. Her head nestled into my neck her hand on my shoulder, with her blankie in hand....
I know there's no use.
It's not the same.
I'll never have that back.
I told Grant this morning that I had done such a good job keeping it 'together' over the past month but now faced with another reminder of what we've lost I can't fake my happiness, my strength or my 'normalcy' today.
Today I am weak.
I am sad.
I am angry.
I am grieving.

Motherhood is a blessing. And a curse.
Like the famous quote says: becoming a mother is to forever thereafter watch your heart walk around outside of your body.
This is true.

As our finale fundraiser for the Reece Ryde Memorial Park Fund we are selling tickets to a Mother's Day Buffet supper to be held on Sunday May 10th @ 5 pm at the Dakota Dunes Casino. Tickets are $15/person and you must of course be over 19 to attend. We will be giving out a couple door prizes. The Grand prize being the signed Anika Soremstan tour golf bag donated by Callaway. This is a valuable prize as Anika has now retired from the sport!

Please contact our friends/family or email or call us @ home to get tickets. What better way to thank your mom for a job well done- than a great supper! And skip the line-ups at the busy restaurants!