Windows

The window to my soul
Covered in shame and grief
Your prying eyes
Will never see
The death I wish to seek.

The darkness of that window
The wall I hide behind
Was built from years of sadness
My blood and tears defined.

No longer can I see beyond
That window made of pain
It took so long to build it
Here is where I'll stay.

cdl 06/28/2019 4:36 am

Defeated

In his voice
Defeat is thick
Sadness is raw
Choosing words
Doesn't matter
It is what it is.

Mother's love
Falls at his feet
He turns around
She follows
Don't go, she begs
Don't give in.

He walks faster
She runs
He falls
She reaches for him
He slips away
She screams.

On the edge
She cries
With empty arms
Falling, she prays
Together.

The Box

On a shelf
Way up high
There is a box
With butterflies.

'By Invitation Only!'
The box exclaims
The things in there
She can't explain.

Once a year
She takes it down
Peers inside
What is that sound?

Of grief and loss
A mother cries
Leave her be
Don't ask her why.

All that's left
Sweet baby boy
Pictures of you
They bring no joy.

In her arms
You slipped away
In her heart
You'll always stay.

Alexander Lee, September 13, 1995

When

You knew me when
I had reached then end
And could not stand at all

Your dreams were haunted
While others taunted
You finally hit the wall.

You knew me when
My heart was spent
Thoughts were just a scrawl

Your eyes were closed
And so it goes
You seemed to stand so tall.

You knew me when
I could not bend
Too fearful of the fall

You had come undone
You could not run
Your walk became a crawl.

You knew me when
Alone I'd been
Shoved up against the wall

You reached for me
Wanting to believe
This place you did belong.

You knew me when
Tears on my chin
And covered with a pall

Your lips were warm
Your heart was torn
You sang to me a song.

You knew me when
Lost in a spin
I was just a ragged doll

You said stay with me
Don't ever leave
We'll weather any squall.

I knew you when
Fearless deep within
How could we be so wrong

A storm blew in
We could not win
We were human after all.

Thinking

Plans we made so long ago
Slowly passed us by
The life we shared together
Swallowed by the sky

What if we could change the past
By stepping back in time
Meet again and fall in love
The future we'd defy

If you and I together
Stopped and turned around
Walked back to the starting blocks
Remembering what we found

Were we ever meant to be
Or was it all a dream
Was the love we shared
A fantasy for only you and me

Then one sunny October day
Our One split into Two
You walked away and shut the door
What was I to do

Everything we thought was ours forever and a day
Disappeared without a trace
The day you drove away

Tree of Life and Death

...and so it goes...

A beating heart
One, two, three
One-hundred and eighty seconds
How can this be?

Four and five
Pass quickly by
A life too early
No sound, no cry

The heart beating
In a tiny chest
Slowly fades
Eternal rest

Twenty-two years
I have grieved for you
A life too short
So silent too

Except for the sound
Inside your chest
300-seconds strong
I knew then that I was blessed

Alexander Lee
b. September 13, 1995
d. September 13, 1995

Reminders

I hate September. It is the one month of the whole year that I am viciously reminded that I am not good enough; for my kids, for my parents, and my husband.

For the world.

It is also the one month that finds me on my knees every night, a sloppy sobbing woman who hurts to the very bottom of her soul and there is absolutely nothing she can do about it. It's not that I am a helpless woman, it is truly because there is nothing I can do about it.

Matthew turns 28 on September 6th. He lived with me the first five years of his life.

My dad will be 77 years old on September 12th and I still have not seen him this summer and they will be going back to Florida soon.

Alexander's birthday is September 13th. I was afraid he would be born on my dad's birthday, yet he wasn't. He was born and died just a few minutes past midnight.

September 13th is also the day I lost my best friend, Tim. I still feel guilty that, had I been there as planned that night (and listened to my gut), he would still be alive. Tim was the first person I called after my grandson was born the month prior and he was genuinely happy.

Tim had called me, while I was driving to Toledo for Monica's ultrasound, to see if he could stop by later. At the time he called, Matthew, Monica's mom and Monica weren't even sure if Monica would deliver that day - yet she did.  When I called Tim later that night, he really was incredibly happy for me and thought it funny that I was now a grandma. "You don't look old enough to be a grandma," he laughed.

My stepmom's birthday is around the 21st or 22nd of September, as is my grandmother's.

I am still so deeply hurt by my stepmom's words and, while I may eventually forgive her, I won't ever forget.

I miss my grandmother so much. She died the same month and year Henry and I were married.

Her house always had an open door and I always felt comforted when I walked through the door. I can still smell her perfume and feel the softness of her skin. While I feel blessed I was able to hold her as she passed away, it still hurts to have had to let her go.

Her house was always the one place I could go and feel loved beyond measure and she never judged me. Grandmother was the very first person I called when I found out I was pregnant with Matthew. The southern drawl of her happiness at the news of my pregnancy still resonates inside my head. I eventually called my parents and gave them the news and while they were "happy" about it, yet it was Grandmother's excitement and approval that I needed first.

My husband's birthday is September 25th. I wasn't enough for him. Or maybe I was too much for him? Sadly, I may never know the answer either way. I am still glad that he was born. If only he had listened to my warning BEFORE things spun out of control, I wonder if we would still have wound up like this; apart. Still, he didn't heed the warning, reassuring me everything would be fine. By the time he realized he should have listened to me it was too late.

September, I fucking hate you.

Sleep

I can already feel the September Anxiety, deep sadness and grief creeping in on me.

If I could sleep through, or skip entirely, the month of September...I would...

Why?

My heart aches for the daughter of my friend Tim. The 5th anniversary of his tragic death just passed and I have noticed that his daughter has been posting a lot about drinking and getting drunk, something Tim didn't do at all.

Almost everyone who knew him respected his choice to abstain, except ONE. On his very last vacation he was sitting at a table with his female friend, whom he worked with, and another couple. While Tim enjoyed drinking soda everyone else was getting drunk.

Then his female friend turned to him and said, "You would have more fun if you were drinking with us!" Tim said he left the table so they could continue drinking without him and lost the last little bit of respect he had for that woman.

It was the evening of September 12, 2012 and I was sitting on the floor of Tim's bedroom, having just called my dad to wish him Happy Birthday, when he shared that information with me. I could see the hurt on his face - and disappointment - because he had been on-and-off dating this woman who, at the same time, was sleeping with another coworker; a relationship she started with the coworker a few years prior and the reason why their respective spouses divorced them.

I had no way of knowing that my staying with Tim that night, would be the last time we would stay up talking (with me crying about the loss of my son Alexander on September 13, 1995) or that the next morning, as I was leaving his house for work, I would stop in the middle of his garage and turn around to see Tim smiling at me with that huge crooked grin of his. As I stepped into my car he reminded me we would meet up after work at his house for pizza and finish the movie we started the night before and that we would stay in touch throughout the day.

The words, "I have a huge crush on you, Tim" were on the tip of my tongue and I will forever regret that I didn't tell him.

Now, Tim is gone. His college graduate daughter is drinking and getting drunk.

There is nothing I can do except miss one of my best friends, and pray for his daughter.

Butterflies

I talked about you in depth yesterday, which is something I almost never do. You are on my mind everyday and in my heart always, yet sharing any details about what happened during the 12-hours before your birth is something I have only shared with Henry. Until yesterday.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A young woman, 5-months pregnant, stopped in our office Wednesday morning to reschedule a missed appointment. Then, leaning through the open window, she said to me, "I'm having symptoms, they just started this morning, and I don't know if they're normal or not." I leaned closer to her and in a low voice asked, "What are your symptoms?"

I immediately put her in an open appointment slot so she would be seen immediately day and asked her to have a seat.

Walking to the back office to talk with the physician I schedule this young woman with, I knew.

I knew her water broke.

I knew there was a muconium stain.

I knew that were she to deliver her baby that early, chances of the baby surviving were slim.

One of the nurses gathered her and her husband from the waiting room and it wasn't long after when I saw her standing 10-feet away from me at the check-out window with the doctor. Her face, wet with tears and swollen, indicated what I already knew. We looked at each other and I mouthed the words, "I am so sorry..."  Then she was gone; whisked away to OB Triage.

I couldn't stop thinking about her that day and into the next. Thursday morning, an OB Triage nurse called to speak with the doctor who sent her there. I couldn't stop myself from asking about the young woman and her baby. The nurse told me the plan had been to induce her Thursday morning, yet the flow of amniotic fluid had stopped and an ultrasound soon after indicated there was still fluid around the baby.

Thank You, God.

I learned, serendipitously so, that things might turn out all right for mom and baby.

"Cautiously optimistic."

I was cautiously optimistic that this young woman might never know the feeling of a broken heart, and the enormous and forever grief, of losing a child born before his/her time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

So I told a coworker about you and me. I told her about having to call my doctor from a payphone in the busy entryway of a major one-stop shopping store. I told her I had to shout into the phone so the doctor could hear me above all the cacophony I was standing in. "I THINK MY WATER BROKE AND THERE'S BLOOD!" I yelled into the phone receiver, hoping he could hear me. Several people stopped to stared.

I picked DH up from work, less than 15-minutes after I dropped him off there. As he slid behind the steering wheel I told him to stop at our apartment so I could change my soaking wet pants. It was there that, while wiping myself after urinating, I felt a large bulge. Horrified, I grabbed a clean bath towel to place between my legs while yelling to DH to call an ambulance NOW! then I slid off the toilet onto the bath mat on the floor in front of me.

With the ambulance on its way to me, my mind was a frenzy of thoughts. DH was asking questions I had no answers to. I was laying half-naked, on my side on the floor; the bath towel pressed firmly between - and held in place by - my legs. Then the paramedics arrived.

After assessing my situation in place which, by the way, neither of them had seen before, I had explained to them that me standing and walking to the ambulance was a very bad idea so they decided to put me onto a backboard.

Let the circus begin!

I told my coworker about laughing with the paramedics, after they moved me onto a backboard, that they couldn't figure out how they were going to get me off the bathroom floor, into the short hallway that lead out of the bathroom to the main hallway - and a wall - then right 45° to the living room. Without me sliding off the backboard I was strapped to. In the end they had to almost stand me up in order to get around that corner. I think we were laughing so hard at how the paramedics were so puzzled that we were crying. Maybe I was laughing to keep myself from crying?

As per protocol, the paramedics took me to the hospital nearest to my home instead of to the hospital where my Obstetrician was on staff. After a few hours of DH and I batting a glove balloon back and forth, we were told that the hospital didn't have an Obstetrician on staff to see me and, by the way, none of the doctors there had seen this problem before. Wait. What!?!? Then they transferred me to the hospital they should have taken me to in the first place. 

WTH?

I was finally in the correct hospital, also a Level 1 Trauma Center, with physicians and nurses who knew exactly what was going on with me. It hadn't occurred to me yet that I would leave the hospital no longer pregnant, and without my son.

I told my coworker about being stoned on Morphine. I told her about the on-call doctor forcing my cervix open, tearing it, I found out later, in order to deliver my son. I may have been stoned on Morphine ASSHAT, yet I felt THAT PAIN completely. 

FYI: Were I able to gather up enough STRENGTH at that moment, I would have kicked your ASSHAT off that stool and let DH finish you off.

My own OB had stopped by the day before to layout my options. There were only two: wait and go into labor on my own, or be induced now with a Pitocin drip. I remember asking my doctor, whom I trusted completely, what the outcome would be for both options. Dr. R. always shot straight from his hip, which is one of the many reasons why I trusted him so much, and told me that both options would end the same way; I would lose my son. The amount of time it took for one versus the other was the only difference between the two.

I told my coworker about the ONE (and only) redeeming quality about DH was he did what I could not have done which was give our son a name. 

Another reason why I trusted my OB so much is that he was an extraordinary doctor. He specialized in treating depression in women during pregnancy, who were being treated for depression prior to becoming pregnant. Sadly, the number of depression medications that are safe to ingest during pregnancy, are few.

I did not however tell my coworker about you, my Beautiful Butterfly. How you first came to me in late October, shortly after the memorial service we held for you, and how you have continued your fly-bys by showing up in the strangest places, and in weather conditions a butterfly wouldn't normally be.

I also did not tell her that the first time you came to me, I had just pulled into the driveway where your paternal grandparents lived. I was sitting in the driver's seat of the truck, sobbing uncontrollably while the song "You Are Not Alone" by Michael Jackson played. The volume of the song through the enormous speakers BOOMED. It was like a earthquake beneath me. It was the sound of my heart beating, even though I felt dead inside.

Your Grandma heard the music and came outside. The state I was in scared her because when she yanked open the truck door her first questions came in quick succession, "What happened? What's wrong?! Are you hurt!?!" When I shook my head no, she gathered me up in her arms and held me until I was able to step out of the truck and walk into the house without crumping to the ground. 

There you were. A small pale yellow-green Butterfly flitting around my head and in the space I walked between the truck and the house.

I miss the mornings of drinking coffee on my Robinhood porch because you were a frequent visitor while I lived there.

Then Tim was killed. On the same day, 17 years ago, I lost you.

Not long after Tim's funeral, I drove to work and parked my car. I remember feeling the crispness of the air as I stepped out of it. It was going to be a beautiful fall day. Then I saw you, flapping your small wings, as you flew closer to me. This time, not far behind you, was the most beautiful and large black and gold butterfly.

"Keep watch over my little boy for me, Tim", I whispered.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I told you, my beautiful Butterfly, "You're in good hands."

* * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Since that day almost five years ago, my Butterflies continue to visit me, separately and together, and always - ALWAYS - in the weirdest places, when I need them the most.

Number Crunching and Waiting

Just as I started to drift off to sleep, the number '18' popped into my head. It took me a moment to figure out the meaning of this number.  It's the number of years Henry and I have been together; the last 7 years apart. We are still legally married, yet have completely separate lives. Had I known then what I know now ... would I still have taken the chance, or would I have the chance pass me by?

Just before Henry left, I went to a divorce support group and after he left I went a couple more times and realized that I didn't fit in there. Then I went to a grief support group once and realized I didn't belong there either. Although I still grieve my son, I also grieve for Henry and the enormous hole in my life where he should be.  Had I known then what I know now ... would I still have taken the chance, or would I have the chance pass me by?

In 2013, when I landed in the hospital for a pelvic mass that was initially diagnosed as cancerous, I contacted Henry to let him know what was happening. To say I was scared would be an understatement. I was completely terrified. Then having to wait several days for surgery while the doctor's completed additional testing only compounded that terror.  If I had known then what I know now, would I still have taken the chance, or would I have let the chance pass me by?

Later, after I was discharged from the second hospital, I looked back and realized that if anything could bring Henry to my side, it should have been that. Sadly, it didn't. If I had known then what I know now, would I have taken the chance, or would I have let the chance pass me by?

Still, not knowing what keeps him away, and why he left in the first place, has been a source of frustration for me and as much as I have (practically) begged for the reasons, none are forthcoming. Another source of frustration for me. If I had known then what I know now, would I still have taken the chance, or would I have let the chance pass me by?

Yesterday I was talking with a co-worker and told her the story of how Henry and I met and she thought that was so cool.  I told Henry from the beginning that he was too good to be true and that eventually the other shoe would drop and he'd be gone. He assured me over and over and over again that that would never happen. And I fought him HARD in the beginning because I had heard those assurances and promises and pinky-swears from others and it always ended before it began. If I had known then what I know now, would I still have taken the chance, or would I have let the chance pass me by?

I know Henry sacrificed just about everything for Jake, and I know that he sacrificed a lot for Hunter and me. If I had known then what I know now, would I still have taken the chance, or would I have let the chance pass me by?

September 13, 1995

Alexander Lee was born a few minutes after 12 o'clock in the morning on September 13, 1995 and died in my arms five minutes later.

The earth has made twenty-one trips around the sun since that day. While I have grown older and wiser in some things, I am still a complete dumbass in so many others.

I know that time does not heal a heart that is broken over the loss of child. I also know that I will never stop wondering "what if...?"

Tomorrow I, alone, will quietly celebrate the birth of my son Alexander Lee and I will again ask God, "Why? Why this child?"

When I close my eyes for sleep tomorrow night, it will start all over again.

Another September

The month of September completely unravels me and this year seems especially dark because I am actually having anxiety attacks, something I haven't experienced in years.  I think it has a lot to do with me having to stretch my medications so my prescriptions last a little longer than 30 days*.

The 19th anniversary of Alexander Lee's birth and death is September 13th.  I have a box of Alexander's things on a shelf in my closet and I took it down the other day and looked through it.  Inside are pictures of him from the hospital, his birth and death certificates, autopsy report, sympathy cards we received, a baby blanket, booklets on grief and grieving that the hospital gave us.

I read through his autopsy report, something I haven't done in probably 10 years, and looked at the photographs of him, which I do once a year or less.  I remember holding him in my arms that day and I remember he was very tiny.  It isn't until I look at photographs of him that I can visualize just how tiny he was.  

He was born on September 13, 1995 at 12:10 am and died at 12:14 am.  His four minutes of life were spent in my arms.  If my grief only lasted that long...

* Without health insurance my prescriptions, for a 30-day supply each, will cost me around $600 per month.

Calming Down

The craziness that has been my life for so long seems to be finally calming down.

The debilitating female health issues that have been plaguing me for the past 9 months are almost completely taken care of, the grueling, time consuming, intense four months of National Ski Patrol (NSP), Outdoor Emergency Care (OEC) classes and final exams are over and, let's not forget, the future of my marriage was finally decided by the other half. Although I disagree with his decision from the bottom of my heart, I also know that there is nothing I can do to change his mind.

I've written several posts about Henry and how I have always believed he was the 'Love of My Life' and my 'Soul Mate', and I will forever stand by those. All of the billions of moments we declared "forever" to each other and that we were "in love for the last time in our lives" (the latter from the movie "Murphy's Romance"), I now have to live with the gut-wrenching reality that it's over.

My mind cannot even begin to wrap around the idea of Henry walking out of my life because that has never been my mindset. It has never even been a fleeting thought. I cannot remember there never being an "us". HenryAndCarrie. CarrieAndHenry. Never one without the other and we loved being that way.

My brain has always been my worst enemy because of it being Bipolar. Replaying all the wonderful memories that I have of Henry and me has made it absolutely unbearable. Taking it to the nth degree of excruciating is the fact that Henry holds so many memories of mine that I lost/never registered because of Electro-Convulsive Therapy.

When he leaves, he takes my memories with him...

4 Months

Closing in on it anyway. There is so much to write and so many emotions to share that I am overwhelmed just thinking about how to put them down on a web page.

Hunter is still inpatient at a psychiatric facility and it's been, as this post is titled, almost 4 months. It's been a long road full of frustration, tears and one very painful "Oh-My-God" when I learned Hunter tried to hang himself with a belt he borrowed from his roommate.

I can't even go in to the range of emotions I felt when I heard that, nor explain to you how it felt to see the obvious signs of his desperation on his neck.

I'm still unsure where my marriage stands.

My job is going very well. I still LOVE what I do and the people I care for. I wouldn't trade it/them for anything.

I am currently taking classes to be an OEC (Outdoor Emergency Care) Technician for one of the local Ski Patrols. We are almost at the half-way point, which means mid-terms are coming up VERY soon. I have already passed my "Professional Rescuer" course for CPR/Airway Adjunct/AED. It was grueling.

This is all I have for now.

Hello, Again

Hunter has been in the hospital 40-something days now. In a way the days have flown by. Mostly though they have dragged slower than molasses. He continues to exhibit the violent, aggressive behavior that landed him there in the first place. There have been slight med changes over the past number of weeks, yet ~ and still ~ there is no magic potion to cast the demons from his brain.

I miss him so much I cannot breathe. He's my buddy, my shadow, my boy. I somehow fooled myself into believing that with him I had a chance to be a mother in ways I could not be with Matthew or Connor. It seems I have failed Hunter too. I feel as though I have lost all my boys.

I hate this fucking disease called bipolar! I cannot express just how much I do. I hate that because of it I had to even make the choice to let Matthew and Connor go. The demons I live with over that decision haunt me constantly and on such a deep level that at times I want to scream "do over!". Yet, the time has past. I lost all of it. Every single nanosecond. I missed so many firsts...I was excluded from their lives. Purposely or accidentally is anybody's guess.

I hate this fucking disease because now one of my children has to live with the same darkness clouding his mind that I do.

I am a horrible mother and a bad wife. I want to lie down in a hole and exhale my very last breath...

Connor

You may never know how much your years of silence have taken a toll on me.

You may never hear how much it hurts that you do not communicate with me.

You may never hear or know these things because we may never see or talk to each other again.

I have reached out over and over and over to you.

It's YOUR turn.

I love you,

Mom

Closure

What is it? Seriously. What is it really? When someone asks for closure, what is it they are really asking for?

I have been seeking some sort of closure on several things in my past ~ mostly related relationships, but then aren't we all?

Does closure mean some sort of reconciliation ~ not of the relationship itself ~ for our minds to wrap around in order for us to walk away without looking back? Ever.

Is pursuing closure another way to have the last word?

For me, personally, it's about unanswered questions about the relationship itself. For instance, what were the mistakes I made in that particular relationship and were they what caused the relationship to end? Or did the relationship ending have anything to do with me at all?

I never set out to deliberately make the same mistake more than once, yet there are times where I deliberately do nothing to stop it. I'm not trying to be malicious, yet I know that is exactly what it looks like, it usually just seems like the thing to do at the time.

Right now I am stuck in a cycle of wanting something that I not only can't have, but shouldn't want to have in the first place. This dilemma has caused much distress in my marriage and has brought it to the brink of ending it completely.

Closure

Ah, that word again ~ closure. Something I completely suck at because I have no idea what closure means to me, specifically. It'll just be another relationship that I can say I never had "closure" on and ache forever because of it.

Many years ago, when I was a junior in high school, I met a cop from the community from which I worked. We were just friends for a very long time before we became something much more. It was something that happened naturally and it was something that I truly wanted at that time. Something I was given in that relationship was brutally taken away and, to this very day, it haunts the hell out of me. I need closure.

What I have always wanted to know from him was why he never called after I was put in that position and why he didn't stay for the fallout. Those aren't the only questions I have for him. Having my many questions answered, in this case, means closure for me. It's difficult to say whether or not it would be complete closure, I would just like the opportunity to find out.

There is one other person I had a relationship with that, if given the opportunity, I would like to ask questions of and maybe find...yep...closure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of my biggest detriments is that I feel emotions at such a deep, deep level, yet I am not able to compartmentalize them. I feel that if I could compartmentalize them, especially past relationships, not just men but relationships with a few of my family members, too, then I would be able to close those chapters for good.

Instead, I walk around with all these emotions (some that go back many, many, MANY years) piled one on top of the other and, combined, they emit a buzzing sound inside my head. I'm very certain this is the one of the major reasons I have so much trouble sleeping ~ or at least turning off my brain on command. I really don't want to be a walking bundle of emotions. It saps so much of my energy. On the other hand, were it not for my emotional experiences, I would not be able to do what I do now for a living.

For example, today I had a patient with congestive heart failure, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and several other ailments that, combined, make it nearly impossible for her to breathe properly.

This patient, Bella, has been in to see us every week for the past several weeks with one goal in mind: to be able to take a deep, cleansing breath. While doing her intake today, before the doctor came to examine her, she made a statement ~ “I’m at the end of my rope…” ~ and that resonated with me. I was able to draw from my own (recent and ongoing!) personal health issues and understand exactly what she meant.

I didn’t do what many people do and say “I know how you feel; I’ve been there”. I knew actions would speak louder than words so I just wrapped my arms around her and held her while she cried on my scrubs.

My vast emotional experiences allow me to empathize on a much deeper level with my patients. Unfortunately (or is that fortunately?) my emotional experiences with my patients adds to my emotional experiences heap and the buzzing in my head continues.

Sheesh…

If only I could insert a memory card and do an emotional dump…

Be Still by Story Side B

the good times and the bad
(some good and some are bad)
I'm still holding on to you
some days I wanna run
and times I come undone
but I still belong to you
thats how I know that

When I feel like caving in
my heart my soul is wearing thin
I just want to give up
nothing seems at all to add up
can you hear me Lord?
my face is down upon the floor
its then you whisper in my ear
be still and know I'm here

I see a side of you my friend
the same struggles that I have
my heart goes out to you
I know its hard to feel alone
and this world's so unforgiving
I've been feeling that way too
but I can tell you

Is that you?
Is this me
It's sometimes hard to believe that
I am not alone
its not just you
and not just me

we all need to believe that
we are not alone.

~ Story Side B ~

Bittersweet September

September is upon me once again. One of these days I believe this month will swallow me whole.

I have an enormous love/hate relationship with this month because in the midst of celebrating a few important birthday's (Henry, Matthew, my dad, and grandmother), I mourn the birth and death of Alexander Lee on September 13, 1995.

It's been 14 years since I held my teeny-tiny son in my arms. Wishing for him to cry, praying for the miracle of all miracles ~ his life. Knowing the harsh reality that he was too tiny for anything to be done. I still have difficulty reconciling the truth with the hopes I once had for him.

As much as I believe that things do, indeed, happen for a reason and as much as I believe in a higher power and His will, I am constantly tripping over the powerful grief that, 14 years later, still overwhelms me.

Time truly does not heal all pain. There are some sorrows that sting like hell no matter how much time passes.

Memories of that day and night are still crystal clear in my mind. Time has not put a fade on them either.

The anguish I feel over not having been enough, physically, for him to continue to grow in my belly shreds me to pieces. Although I knew the probability of carrying him to term was low, due to an incompetent cervix, terminating the pregnancy was never an option. In all honesty, the thought did stroke my brain for all of 2 seconds, I just couldn't do it.

Hindsight? Yeah, it's almost always 20/20. In this instance, and as much as intense agony as his premature birth and subsequent death caused, I wouldn't trade holding him and his beating heart for anything.

So, happy birthday, Alexander Lee, my angel baby.  I held you in my arms briefly, once-upon-a-time, yet you will live in my heart and soul forever.