Trying to be like her

People still ask us all the time how we are doing. The funny thing is, it'll be 2 months since Liv passed away this Thursday and I wonder what they mean. Do you mean just generally? Or how am I doing since my daughter passed away recently? So, if you're inclined to ask, I'm not sure the answer you're looking for, so clarification in your expectations would help.

To answer the question, namely the second one, good, I guess. I'm never sure how to measure things like that, since its all very relative to our particular situation and what we would consider "good" having no measuring stick or previous experience with that. We're eating and sleeping and exercising some. We laugh a lot, but we still cry plenty. Usually, I find, in the quiet (which only happens when Gabby is sleeping) and I have time to think or read or look at the pictures of her all around me-- those are the times I cry the most, but a lot of times the moments I treasure the most and find the most healing.

Often, because the weather has been amazing lately, I find myself reading or spending quiet moments on our porch. A lot of the time I lay flat on my back and stare up at the tree--Liv's tree. I think about what she liked so much about looking at that tree and I try to appreciate and praise God for those things too. That tree, the monstrous ancient one outside our house will always be Liv's tree. But, there has been a second one added to the collection now

I try and look up when I go visit Liv here too, at the cemetery. I don't lay flat on my back on the ground (I feel like that might draw a crowd at a cemetery) but I look up at the recently very blue sky and the half live/ half dead leaves on "her tree". I listen to the wind whipping through the branches that sounds just like applause. I slowly begin to understand. It is not slowing down for the sake of slowing down. It is slowing down to notice and appreciate and understand the world that God has given us--a world that is desperately broken and sinister and decrepit, but that is full of wonderful things and moments like these. Thats what and who Liv was. She was the victim of a very broken and decrepit body. Many days were painful and difficult and sad, but always, we were grateful for any time with our little girl-- even the bad ones. And in those moments we take to appreciate her and who God made her to be, even in this sad world, we are like her and we draw closer to the heart of God.

I am continually finding it difficult to fully explain the role of faith in how we are "doing". I know, but it would be next to impossible for me to find appropriate words. Thankfully, God gave us books. I am reading this book by Nancy Guthrie called "Hearing Jesus Speak into Your Sorrow". I've read some other books, even others of her books, and while some of them are semi-helpful, this book has helped me think the things I am feeling. This is how we are doing...

Most of us have known what it is like to be full--to be full of ideas and full of promise, to have a full plate. Full feels good. But now we know what it is to be empty. And empty doesn't feel so good. One of the main ingredients of sorrow is emptiness--a deep and devastating emptiness left behind by empty promises, empty arms, an empty womb, an empty bank account, an empty place at the table, an empty bedroom, an empty bed. But as bad as empty feels, sometimes emptiness is actually good. God can work with empty. Over and over in Scripture we see that God fills emptiness with his own power and life.

We are feeling empty. But, are completely hopeful, and even expectant knowing that God will fill us again. Maybe soon. Maybe differently than we expected (in fact, probably) but having full faith that he will fill us with himself. 

Gabba Dabba Doo: the nine months edition

Every time I start to write this blogpost (that I promised a while ago, I know) I think of all the pictures and all the stories I owe you and I chicken out and put it on the bottom of the pile of things to do. Yes, apparently I'd rather clean my bathroom than update you on Gabs. And not because I don't want to tell you, but because my crazy girl is doing so much. There are so many stories and faces and milestones I know I won't remember them all. Here is a shot...

Gabs is crawling. She has been for several weeks. She's nutty and doesn't crawl like other kids--my mom calls it Quasimoto crawling--one foot and one knee to the ground. She is preparing to run.

Or climb stairs. Left her in the foyer for about four seconds by herself a week after she started crawling. Yes, she is blurry and the stairs are, well, permanently (or so it seems) under construction.

Also doing this. On about every piece of furniture we own.

She LOVES the park and being outdoors. Its a good thing. Otherwise I would think she wasn't my child.

She also has two teeth now, but still wants to stick with baby food.

She is still teeny tiny, but completely fearless. I think its a rule those two things have to go together.

Gabs has been saying "momma" for a while now. She CAN say "dadda", she just chooses not to. Poor Daddy. The last few days have been better for him, though. She has stopped referring to him as "momma".

Gabs is SUPER fun, but at that age and with that personality that Brian and I are learning a ton about discipline that we didn't have to exercise with Liv. Its a constant reminder of how impatient I am. I have reverted to giving Gabs and I pep talks about being more patient. I sound out the word while she stares intently at my lips PA-TIEN-CE.

Funny things about Gabs:

--For a while she thought all books had braille in them because our boardbooks were sent from a group that supplied Liv's school with books. She would run her hands down the pages of all of those books. I think she became disappointed enough that she just stopped.

--She commits to whatever it is she wants to do 200%. If she is planning to play in the dog's water bowl, dangit, she does not care that you're yelling "no" and running at her. She WILL put her hands in that bowl.

--She dosen't play "with" other kids. But she will play with the dog. Go figure.

--When she wants to put something in her mouth and she knows she is not supposed to she shimmies her legs and turns her back to you to try and sneak a taste. Seriously?

Gabs, we adore you. You are so fun and so naughty and you definitely keep us on our toes. You are adorable--and you know it. We are so blessed and privileged to be your parents. Please, heed our spankins, never bring home a boyfriend, join a convent, and never call us from jail. ok?

The Empty Room Down the Hall

Due to the fact that she still isn't sleeping through the night, a couple of times a night Kelly and I go into Gabby's room to change her and most of the time feed her a bottle. While I sit holding my crabby, hungry little girl in the glider, I have a lot of time to think, pray, or sometimes fall asleep while I wait for her to polish of her bottle. Most nights I sit and stare across the hall into the newly empty bedroom...Olivia's room.

The bright security light outside the window illuminates everything in the room...

• The chair that we bought a few months back so we could comfortable rock her or so the home health nurses had a comfortable place to sit as they sat night after night watching her so we could sleep. 
• There is also Olivia's "big girl bed" which she got for Christmas, complete with cute bedding meticulously picked out and coordinated by my wife. 
• There is a dresser purchased by Kelly because Olivia had to have a cute dresser to go in her little girls room. This dresser started a small tiff 3 years ago when we bought this house and were in the middle of renovations and I thought my wife had paid a but much on a First Friday shopping excursion...but what do I know, fashion over function right, Kel? 
• There are letters made by her G-Ma and Aunt Mal that hang there to let you know just whose room it was...WAS what a sad word. 

Every night I walk past this room on the way to my bedroom after feeding Gabby, trying to imagine that Livi is in there...probably not sleeping and playing with her Christmas lights, with the night nurse watching her so we could sleep and with the familiar hum (that was more lawnmower-esque than a simple hum) of medical machinery in the background. Every night I realize once again that it is empty and that the little girl who once lived there isn't there.

I've learned that empty rooms and empty beds in and of themselves don't mean anything by themselves. I mean, I never lament the fact that our guest room is empty (In fact, if it wasn't empty, where would we put laundry when we don't want to put it away?).

Empty rooms only feel empty because someone once called them home. Empty rooms matter because of the people that give them meaning.

Empty rooms matter because there was once someone you loved who you would find playing in her bed in the middle of the night. Empty rooms matter because of the countless times I read "Goodnight Moon" before bed time, sang "Great is Thy Faithfulness" because it was the only song that would calm her down,  or simply prayed and cried while I waited for my little girl to fall asleep.

I'm sure that as long as we live in this house, I will stop by that room every time I pass by it and miss the little girl who - despite the brightness of the security light - lit up that room.

Some nights I smile when I remember her. Tonight I cried.

I hate grief and its cycles - they are unpredictable. But most of all, I hate grief because it means the room down the hall is empty.

1 month, "the video", and $67

Yesterday marked one month since Liv left us. I desperately want to say it was the shortest month and it just seems like yesterday, but it doesn't. Sadly, it seems very far away. One of my biggest fears, I tell Brian often, is I'm afraid I'm going to forget. Forget the small things about Liv, forget what it was like taking care of her, seeing her smile, what she smelled like, how she held her hands. Even now, I feel like they are fading from me. I am frantic to hold onto anything I can.

We have some amazingly talented and gracious friends who volunteered to take pictures of us in our home before Liv passed and again at the funeral service. Those pictures have been put into this beautiful video and given to us as a gift to remember our darling Liv. The song is beautiful. The voice over is Brian's sermon on suffering several weeks back. This video has been instrumental in my grief and in my joy in remembering Liv, how she held her hands, her beautiful eyes that say so much, who was at the funeral, the pain and the joy of that day, and most importantly the promises of God amongst all that.

Olivia Grace Key from THE PARSONS photographers on Vimeo.

https://vimeo.com/46851298

Also, funny things crop up when someone dies. Most of Liv's stuff we've donated--therapy things and expensive equipment that others can use. I haven't touched her room yet, but have the rubbermaid bins all ready in the middle of the rug. You KNOW they're purple. While I haven't put things away, I was rummaging around in there the other day, thinking of things I wanted to put in Gabs' room. I found Liv's "my first piggy bank" and emptied the contents on the bed. $67. Thats Liv's money. I have thought for two weeks about the appropriate thing to do with this money. Donate it? Brian's suggestion was to "will it" to Gabby. I guess either way I didn't get around to getting her something I should have. 

Next post, I am saying with confidence, will solely be about Gabby. In my sad postings you have missed so much: stanky leg crawling, pulling up, and a tooth. What a maniac.

kelly's stages of grief

I know its been a while. First we were out of town, then I was reorganizing the house, and then I was just avoiding you. There is both too much and too little to say about the last 4 weeks. Where do I begin?

Everyone knows the Kubler-Ross stages of grief:

1. denial
2. anger
3. bargaining
4. depression
5. acceptance

I know grief is not a linear thing. We have been grieving Liv's health for three plus years. I have learned a few things about grieving. Let me tell you my 4 stages of grieving her death over the past 4 weeks.

1. shock (which actually lasts through stages 2 and 3 and probably comes back again and again)
Shock is how you stand next to your child's casket during the visitation for two hours without losing your mind, how you decide you might get up in the morning-- like it may all be untrue, and how you seem literally surprised everytime you see their name next to a birthdate and a date of death. You did, in fact, go to the funeral and bury her, but its like going to your own wedding-- you remember almost none of it.

2. public crying.  Public crying is allowed to happen for two reasons: 1. you're beyond consolation, so you're going to cry all the time anyway 2. people let you cry in public because you just started doing it, and its still pretty with tears

3. private crying. This is the WORST stage. Private crying HAS to happen in private because its been a few weeks since the death and people are tired of you being sad. But mostly, it has to be done in private because its the "ugly crying". Your face contorts, there are no tears left, and you do this hiccuping/ gasping thing neither you nor other people appreciate. Yuck.

4. melancholy. I think this stage is partly due to, finally, the exit of adrenaline. The only way you can physically get through stages 1, 2, and 3 is adrenaline. Instead of exhibiting your grief by tears, which is exhausting, you just "feel sad" a lot and look tired. Seriously, I had to start wearing mascara again for the first time since January because I looked so horrible (and I wasn't really crying much anyway).

If you think I have dark humor you should read C.S. Lewis on grief.  He makes me look like Mother Goose.

Honestly, there has been a lot of crying, and just tiredness and sadness, a lot of avoiding you, both on the Internet and in person. There have also been some (and increasing) laughs about memories of Liv, and laughs at Gabby. When I need a gut check I read the blog I wrote about her last few days, or look over her memory book from the visitation/funeral (thanks jami), or watch a video our amazing photographer friends put together and we will be sharing some time (thanks parsons), or I just pack up in the car, drive 5 minutes down the road and sit on the ground next to where she is buried and we have a chat. Almost every time it results in ugly, private crying. But, at the end, I mostly feel resolved.

I think I thought the grieving part would be easier if I believed she was in heaven, that grieving just for me losing her (and not having to grieve her pain any more) would make the whole thing "tolerable". I tell you what, if you have to grieve for yourself AND the deceased, you might just whither away to nothing.

Most days now are fine. We are functioning. Brian is back at work. We are sleeping and eating fine. We are actually exercising for the first time in 3 years. We cry some. Some days we cry alot. We are so thankful for many things: your prayers and support, the many ways we have of remembering our time with Olivia, and the HUGE distraction that Gabs is--she is doing something new every day. If you want pictures of her recently you might check out Brian's instagram feed on "follow us". You were lucky to get words from me today!

6 Years Later...An Anniversary Post

Six years ago today...this happened.

Since then...

We have moved to Kansas City.

We bought a dog.

We have lived at 4 different addresses in Kansas City.

We bought a house.

We have completed graduate school.

We have had two babies.

We have had two miscarriages.

We have lost one of our babies.

In the middle of all of that, we have fallen more in love than we ever thought possible. We have grown in grace toward one another. We have spent long nights talking, worrying, praying, and crying. We have grown in our commitment to God and to one another. 

Things started off a bit rough (I hear this happens to many people). But the truth of the gospel and its implications for our lives have not only kept us together, but it has filled our marriage with grace, forgiveness, repentance, and joy.

I am so thankful to have the woman who is the primary author of this blog as my wife. There is no one else that I would want to be married to. There is no one else I would rather have in the trenches with me.

I love you Kelly Key. Here's to many more years with you.

Her last days with us

Thanks for allowing Brian and I time to stop and begin to process what the last week and a half has held for us. We are ready to tell you about Liv's last days with us.

Two weeks ago Liv began sleeping more. We expected it, but just one day it happened and she didn't ever gain her energy back. As far as we could tell she wasn't sick, but I think she was starting to feel it. That was a Sunday. That night Brian gave her a pep talk. The next day we were scheduled to finally go to the aquarium (with free tickets before it actually opened for the day--HUGE thanks to Annie). We thought if Liv wasn't up to it we wouldn't take her, though we had been looking forward to it for weeks. Brian told her she didn't feel better we wouldn't go. Monday morning came and she was as bright-eyed as could be. So we rounded up the troops and left for Crown Center.Our dear friend Rachelle came to document the trip. We are completely indebted to both her and Annie for making this incredible trip so memorable. It was one of the highlights of her last weeks at home.

Tuesday she continued to sleep more, but her awake hours at home were filled with play time and enjoying the porch.

Wednesday, after a visit from the Hospice nurse Liv woke up from her nap coughing. I thought maybe she just needed to cough up the after-sleep stuff, but she just kept coughing. That night, Brian and I knew this illness would be it for her, but we had no idea how long it would take. We prayed for it to go quickly--it did. Wednesday night she did ok, and thankfully we got some sleep while her nurse watched her carefully. Thursday morning she was struggling a little more to breathe and we called the Hospice nurse to come check on her. In just twelve hours of apparent illness, Olivia's lungs were mostly filled with fluid.

That morning Brian and I struggled with our decision to keep her home. We had turned off her feeding pump and her machine that tells us how well she is breathing-- it was just alarming all the time anyway. We tried keeping her at home, but the morphine regimen was stressful for us to maintain--every hour counting her respiratory rate and deciding if she then needed more medication. By the middle of the day Thursday we decided to take their open room at the Kansas City Hospice House. We are monumentally glad we did. After transporting her in the car to the house we were met with a child-decorated room and an incredibly helpful and kind staff. They began to give morphine via sub-Q (a small needle into her fatty tissue, since they do not do regular IVs there). Olivia calmed down very well with the medicine then and Brian and I focused on just being mom and dad instead of caregivers. That night we were allowed to sleep in her bed with her and we took advantage and took turns. The pictures below are the last pictures we have of Olivia, from Thursday evening.

In the middle of the night it seemed apparent that Olivia would be leaving us soon. The nurse gave her an extra dose of morphine about 2am and we stayed up for an hour to sing to her, read scriptures, and prepare ourselves for her departure. Brian slept in her bed from 3am to 5am when we woke up again to the nurse giving more morphine. Olivia's body was trying to fight so hard, and we let her know for the millionth time that it was ok to relax and let go. At 5:30am I laid in bed with Liv and fell asleep listening to her erratic breathing. Brian stayed awake for a while, eventually giving in to heavy eyelids a few minutes later. At 6:20am I was awakened, by apparently nothing in particular. I laid awake looking at the ceiling listening to---nothing. I rolled over and Liv was gone--sneaking out in the few minutes we were not keeping watch--probably the Lord's kindness to us. After waking Brian up we took Liv's oxygen off and just stared at her, both thanking the Lord her suffering was over and wondering what to do next.

The rest of that day was mostly a blur: showering, cemetery shopping, probably eating, lots of family...about 2pm the funeral home finally came to pick Liv up from the Hospice House. Brian chose to perform his last fatherly duty by picking her up out of bed and placing her body on the gurney to be taken away. He rolled her down the hall and into the chapel, where we had a brief family prayer led by one of our friends and pastor, Kris.

Since then, there are a million people to thank, tons of stories to tell, but very few pictures. On the list of people to thank is you. Thank you, for praying, for crying, for agonizing with us. For rejoicing, for thanking God, and for celebrating Liv's freedom. Her life was very short, but incredibly purposeful and amazing by any measure. Brian and I are beyond grateful and very honored to have been the parents to Olivia Grace Key while she was here on earth. She has changed us in profound ways. Perhaps on a selfish note, if there is any memory or treasured thought, or way Olivia has changed you, we would love to hear it and celebrate her life with you. Feel free to leave a comment, please.

Olivia's death is not the end of this blog. Though it was mostly about her, and started as a way to keep people informed of her medical progress, in honor of her we decided to keep it going, to be honest about where our family is and how we are doing with life, with grieving her death, with the incredible escapades of Gabby, her sister, who is 100% her own person but like her sister in so many ways. We hope you'll stick around.