Happy Halloween!

There are amazing costumes at work today. It's pretty funny to think of the creativity contained in this box all day -- Flo from Progressive, the Balloon Boy, the money you could be saving at Geico, the H1N1 virus, everything but the kitchen sink -- I could go on and on and on.

The excitement (and sugar) have pretty much bumped everybody into the stratosphere. And, soon, we'll all come crashing down.

Among all of the laughs, my heart stings just a little. This Halloween, I was going to go as a pumpkin or a Sigourni Weaver from Aliens. I thought I'd have a nice little baby bump by now.

Why do song lyrics always say it best?

Journalists are always looking for the catchiest, most creative way to tell a story or paint a picture all the while remaining objective and accurate. So, why is it that songs always seem to say it best? Maybe it's the fogginess of the backbeat or the strums of the guitar that trick your brain into hearing things that aren't really in the songs.

Yeah, sounds a little psychedelic, I know. Think about it. It's why certain songs speak more to your soul or pull dance moves from your feet. It's why someone's heartache becomes your favorite song.

In that same vein, I'm a Dave Matthews Band fan. You either hate 'em or you love 'em. DMB's new album "Big Whiskey and the Groo Grux King" has one song that causes tears to leap into my eyes every time. The song isn't about a miscarriage or anything remotely close, but the words said what my heart won't. First, there's a story I must confess before you read the words, however.

I had a dream the night Morgan passed away. I didn't realize it at the time, but looking back in my pregnancy journal, I know the exact moment. As I naively slept, I dreamt a baby kissed me on my right cheek, right below my cheekbone. She kissed me and then smiled the most comforting and peaceful grin you've ever seen. As I turned my head to the right to try to understand, I noticed the infant had soft, white wings. Slowly, the baby rose into the sky, smiling that same grin with the bluest of eyes just looking back at me. Morgan Ashland truly is our little angel in heaven.

 

"Baby Blue" (Fast foward through the first 30 seconds)

Confess your kiss still knocks me off my legs
First time I saw you was like a punch right through my chest
I will forever because you'll forever be
My one true broken heart pieces inside of me


And you forever my baby

You will rest your head, your strength wants saving
And when you wake you will fly away
Holding tight to the legs of all your angels
Goodbye my love into your blue blue eyes in your blue blue world


You're my baby blue

Confess not quite ready to be left
Still I know I gave my level best
You give, you give, to this I can attest
You made me, you made me, you and me forever baby


You will rest your head, your strength wants saving
And when you wake, you will fly away
Holding tight to the legs of all your angels
Goodbye my love into your blue blue eyes in your blue blue world

You and me forever

A wet whirland worth more than the world

Our journey to New York City was one of the best family moments. My family -- the original four -- has visited many places in the country from Seattle to Las Vegas to Maine to Florida. This trip was different with two new faces, but the weekend was even more of a blast.

The itinerary:

We arrived in the city around 1 p.m. after getting let's just say a little lost.

We settled into our smack-in-the-middle balcony seats around 1:30 p.m., and the lights dimmed at 2. After an amazing Broadway show (seriously, you must see "Wicked"), we walked to the Hotel Edison (albeit in a round-about way).

No familiar with this famous building? You must not be Italian, or more specific Sicilian. It's from a scene in "The Godfather" when Luca Brasi meets up with Virgil Sollozzo. See, my parents were in New York a bit ago and they stumbled upon this hotel. As my dad walked up the stairs, he turns to mom and says something along the lines of "I think this is where Luca Brasi was in 'The Godfather.'" (He was right.)

After our historical movie moment, we grabbed an SUV cab to the Tavern on the Green. On a side note, the cab driver definitely jumped out of his driver's seat to yell at a soaking wet tourist who walked in front of his car with his broked umbrella. "You stuuupid, idiiiiiat! You not see da green light? You colablind? You stuuupid idiiiiant!"

Fast-forwarding to dinner, Tom and Jess asked Brent and I to be a groomsman and bridesmaid in their upcoming July 24 nuptials. We couldn't be happier.
After a wet walk back to the Hotel Beacon, we lugged our bags into our rooms. (The rooms weren't ready when we arrived before the play.)
Then, headed to The Dead Poet for a nightcap. By midnight, we were cooked and a little tipsy.

I awoke early determined to go for a run in Central Park, despite a dull headache. After 45 minutes and a brush with death (darn New York drivers), I realized the beautiful NYC Greenway never led me to my destination. I did, however, see a beautiful sunrise along the Hudson. All was definitely not lost. We made noon Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral (beautiful), and toured midtown enjoying the sunshine.

Like I said, a beautiful, whirlwind of a trip. I think the best part was riding in the car with my parents, though. Dorky? Perhaps. Maybe now that I'm 27, I can actually admit that I like, in fact love, my mom and dad. (Don't tell the 16-year-old Laura, though. She wouldn't believe you anyhow.)

An apple day ...

We're taking a bite out of the Big Apple this weekend and trekking to bustling New York City. That's right, folks, it's about time we add a little culture to our lives.

The six of us -- Mom, Dad, Tommy, Jess, Brent and I -- are leaving before dawn from Baltimore to catch Broadway play "Wicked." In celebration of Mom and Dad's 33rd anniversary, they are taking us for a weekend away. (Yeah, I know. Don't think about that too hard. Tom and I are least springing for dinner.)

After our jaunt to Broadway,  we're heading to Tavern on the Green, which is the famous restaurant near Central Park. We'll sit beneath the glistening chandeliers and clink our glasses to love and good fortune. (Warning: Sliding into "The Godfather" realms.)

When our bellies are full and minds a-buzzing, we'll grab a stool at The Dead Poet. I'll be in bookworm heaven.

I never wanted to be the expert

I would consider myself an optimist. I try to think the best about people and situations. And compared to hubby, I'm an eternal optimist! (But, I guess you'd have to know how he can be a sour sam sometimes.)

However, ever since losing Morgan, I think the worst about those closest to me. It's the oddest hole in the pit of stomach that I can't shake. I actually find myself exploring deeper into the caverns of my soul. The places that people don't talk about. The places I wouldn't dare travel to ... until now.

Does that happen to anyone else? I almost feel depressingly freakish to admit it.

Here's an example: Brent drove to Pulaski, N.Y., for his yearly salmon fishing trip. I can't tell you how many times I had horrid images scroll through my brain all ending with him dead -- car crash, swept away down the river, carbon monoxide poisoning in the much-to-be-desired trailer he stayed in.

Ridiculousness.

The interesting part that I am still trying to grasp was the emotions that followed. I was completely calm. I thought about what I would do and say, how I would handle arrangements, where I'd go and the list went on. Then, out of the blue, I'd snap out of it and scold myself for thinking so morbidly.

I'm hoping this is just a side effect (if you will) of planning Morgan's funeral. The only other death that rocked me to my core was my Poppo's, and I was in eighth grade. I was there when he passed away, but I played no part in the preparations.

Maybe now I feel like I'm an expert on funerals, educating people on the existence of baby cemeteries, plaques and prayers. The thing is ... it's one area in which I never wanted to know everything. The silent loneliness, the unspeakable sorrow, the cloak of darkness that I can't remove.

You tell me that's not a miracle

There are so many charities in this world, it's amazing how helpful thousands of people can be. From all-things cancer to homeless outreach to support groups, there is nearly something for everyone out there. It's the ability to get behind -- and I mean really get behind -- one cause that proves to be the most challenging.

I learned that this weekend.

On Saturday, I participated in the 5K run/walk for life, benefiting the Gabriel Network.* The mission of the organization is to "support women in their decision to choose life for their unborn children by providing programs and services, through Christian friendship, within a community of faith." (Notice it's not all about being Catholic or Protestant or Luthern or ...) Gabriel Network is an ecumenical, pro-life organization that gives shelter, food and guidance to women who are embarking on an unbelievable journey. The slogan is "Nothing is Impossible with God."

I have known about GN for a few years, but I never truly realized the scope of its actions. *Disclaimer: My dad is the current president of the organization. The admirable thing about my dad is that he never preached about his efforts, only invited us to see what it was all about. On Saturday, I volunteered at 7:30 in the morning and then ran in the cross-country course in the rain and mud and cold.

I never had more fun. These people, these volunteers, poured their hearts into this effort because they know that it's God's plan at work. A little background: A few months ago the organization was about to declare bankruptcy. They had three houses where pregnant women lived, and all three houses were going to close, throwing this women onto the streets. Anonymously, thousands of dollars were donated. Now, GN has five houses and is looking to extend their programs to include minors.

You tell me that's not a miracle at work. I've ran plenty of charitable races, but this one holds a spot close to my heart.

Acceptance and understanding can't be overrated

In the midst of despair and searching for some sort of virutal community, I discovered the Miscarriage, Stillbirth and Infant Loss Blog Directory. It's a blog of sorts that basically aggregates other people's blogs that tell similar tales of fear, anxiety and the ultimate loss.

After reading several of the blogs, I realized that there was hope and happiness after burying a child. These blogs spoke of unimaginable loss. The same loss that camped out in my heart. The same fear that strangled my soul.

To my surprise, these same online journals revealed other secrets that I haven't yet experienced -- new life. These couples grow to have a family. Still, I'm stuck in the world with people such as God's Plan Not Mine and Empty Arms Open Heart.

But, hey, maybe I can help just one person cope better, breathe better, live better. The keepers of the directory added me to its list. And I couldn't be happier. Here's to all of the men and women who have suffered the same nightmare. The situations might not be the same, but the raw emotions are.

So grateful for the little things

Yesterday was National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, and boy was that an emotional rollercoaster. Work skipped by with a hop and jump, and before I knew it, 7 p.m. rolled around. Brent and I lit two candles for Morgan (one from each of us). We said a few prayers and told Morgan how much we missed that little body.

Tears welled up and spilled over like Niagra Falls. Again.
Sobs wracked our bodies. Again.
And hopelessness crept into our hearts. Again.

But it was the phone call from Mom, sharing that she lit two candles at Chapel for our little one (one from each of my parents). And the gloom seemed to dissipate a little. Shortly after, a text message beeped through on my phone. I shuffled over, and then I saw it.

Someone who has grown to become one of my best friends texted a photo of her candle burning for Morgan with the simple words: "That's my candle. I love you."

I smiled to myself as I realized that Morgan might have only been with us for nine weeks, but that baby has already touched more lives than I ever knew possible.

I love you.

Happy angelversary to my little one

October 15th is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance day. At 7 p.m. Thursday in ALL time zones all over the world, parents will be lighting a candle for their lost ones. They'll leave it burning for an hour, causing a Wave of Light in remembrance of our wee ones. It's a time to remember our little life, not our little loss.

Your light will always burn brightly in my heart, my little angel. And to all my friends and family, if you could a light a candle for our child and all of the children who have gone before us.

Our little Burkey baby

I must send you a thank you;
Because I’m not quite sure you know;
It’s the best eight weeks and six days;
That Daddy and I have ever known.

We dreamed about your future;
We fought about your name;
We planned and planned for your arrival;
But you never came.

We never saw your smiling face;
We never heard you cry;
We never got to snuggle you close;
Instead we felt you die.

Our pain is just too much to handle;
Our loneliness too great;
Someday we know that we will meet you;
For now, we have to wait.

We’ll hold onto your memory;
Our peek inside my womb;
We watched you move and heard your heart;
We thought we’d see you soon.

You kissed my cheek to say farewell;
Our first and last embrace;
How lucky we are to have had this time;
Even if for only a trace.

Our little angel, in heaven you sit;
Above our heads and clouds and sky;
We know you’re safe from all of sin;
We wish we simply knew why.

Please know that you are always ours;
Our little Burkey baby;
We miss you, we love you, we’ll hold you soon;
Our little Burkey baby.

Seems the fog has returned

I've really been doing well with losing Morgan. Really. I'm passed the point of wanting to off myself. I'm over the whole poor-me attitude where I loathe all pregnant women everywhere.

But my brain still doesn't want to work at full capacity despite my pleading and begging. The projects at work are mounting, the meetings are endless. I can focus for about a half-hour, but then it's back to la-la land for Burkey's brain.

What is it? I know I miss my baby. I know I can't hold my baby. But I also I know that someday I will get that chance with little Morgan. And I want a chance to raise my own children here on Earth, but what if that just isn't in the cards?

As a friend so intuitively said today: "The thing of it is, worrying or not worrying will not stop bad things from happening. In the meantime, you're spending the between moments filled with all that fear and angst. The other thing is, worrying or not worrying will not stop good things from happening either. There are so many things outside of your control, you have to leave it up to God -- and I know you have faith in him and I don't think he'll let you and Brent down without reason."

I couldn't have said it better myself. Now, it's just convincing myself that it's true.

I'm glad I'm not her

Here's one story marrying Twitter with having a miscarriage. Not sure I'd be the one to tweet this mess, but then again, there aren't really any "rules" to social networking. You can be as boring as typing that you're, well, bored. Or, you can type your feelings on abortion and miscarriage like this woman did. (Although, I'd venture to guess she has issues that go waaaay beyond the TMI threshold.

Here's the story.

An organ-tastic weekend of sorts

Whirlwind. That best describes this weekend. Friday night, Brent, Lucy and I headed north to Berrysburg for Urban Folk Day, which was Saturday. What is UFD? I'm not sure words will suffice. After all, isn't the saying a picture says a thousand words? Here are two. (apple butter on top, and scapple on the bottom)

I woke up at 3 a.m. Yes, 3 a.m. Why might you ask? To stir apple butter. To jar said apple butter. To slop out ham and bean, beef vegetable and chicken corn soup to ungrateful and sometimes snippy people. To set up the Grove for the UCC church Sally and Terry attend. It's the yearly fundraiser, and this year $5,400 was raised. Not too shabby. Despite some snottiness, I enjoyed lending a hand for the second year. (I think I'm setting a precedent here.) Plus, it's something my mother-in-law and I can share. So, yes, it's worth the 3 a.m. rousing.

As Brent headed to the New York/Canada line for salmon camp, the puppy and I trekked south to York. The best part was when my parents surprised me with a Sunday afternoon visit, after an anniversary night at Allenberry. I had the pleasure of showing off Morgan's plaque.

Gosh, do I miss that kid.

Beautifully bittersweet

Our little Morgan can finally rest in peace.

Memorial Walk for those who have lost children

Being in newspapers and all, I received this press release. I'm thinking about going, but I'm not sure I can do it alone. (Of course, I wouldn't be alone because Morgan would be with me, but I think you know what I mean.)

Anyway, Brent leaves for his yearly salmon fishing trip to Pulaski, N.Y., on Saturday night. He's there until Wednesday, so it looks like I'll be a single puppy mom for the foreseeable future. So, I might have to bite the bullet and brave the walk alone. I'm still mulling....

In the meantime, here's the press release:

Memorial Walk set for Oct. 11
York Hospital Bereavement Services is sponsoring a memorial walk and celebration with families whose babies have died during pregnancy or shortly after birth. The event is 2 p.m. Sunday at John C. Rudy County Park. An informal reception will follow the celebration. If you plan to attend, call 851-3467.

Ring, ring, it's Mother Nature

You know those television commercials, where there is this beautiful woman who is hanging out with this ridiculously hot guy (but not as hot as Brent, of course)? Anyway, this frazzled old lady with never-been-combed red hair dressed in green pops up into this hot-to-trot girl's dream carring a pink present (that is wrapped perfectly might I add).

Then, I-don't-believe-in-fun Mother Nature tries to give the scantily clad woman the gift of the month. However, it's no avail as the chickie refuses the deceiving present out of her hands, kicks open a treasure chest and says something along the lines of "I have Tampax Pearl, so I don't have to worry about leaks."
 

The commercial has been on a lot lately. It has nothing to do with the marketing or sales pitch. I swear I have a point.

It came today.
Aunt Flo stopped by for dinner.
I'm riding the crimson tide.

My body is slowly returning to normal after the nightmare four weeks and three days ago. It means we can start trying again. It means we'll both be edgier than ever. But it means we have another chance at raising a little baby Burkey.

Thank you, God, for today.

Knowing sometimes isn't better

An article I stumbled across the other day talked about how a doctor claims to have developed a miscarriage test for pregnant women.

Read it here.

The doctor said that if a woman is at risk for a miscarriage, he can proceed more carfully to try to save the baby. Of course, nothing is ever guaranteed. And  science has proven that miscarriages occur because of a genetic abnormality or poor implantment to the uterine wall. So, my question is, how is this going to help? Are we playing God again by trying to control the outcome? Would more women abort the pregnancy prematurely because a test shows that she could have a miscarriage?

No matter what, I wouldn't abort only because tests are wrong all of the time. As hard as it might be, nature has a way of taking care of things. Here's an example: OB-GYNs perform a test of the fetus at 16 weeks that shows whether the child will have cystic fibrosis, muscular dystrophy, mental retardation and a host of other problems. Of the four women I spoke to, three had positive results. And all of their children had and still don't have any of these problems. So, the moms were distraught for no reason.

Maybe I'm ignorant, but I'd rather wait until the child is born to know the road ahead of us. Knowing or think that you know isn't always the best thing.

That's the definition of iroooony

Saturday morning was a little tough -- Brent left at 3 a.m. for the first day of archery season, and Lucy and I were left to our own devices. I moped around for the better part of the morning, but headed to the dog park in the afternoon.

Turns out Lucy and Snacks are better friends that we had originally thought. (More on that later.)

The ironic part of this whole journey is that I spend 11 weeks hoping for no spotting. Now, I'm praying to get Aunt Flo, so we can start trying again. I guess humans can never be truly satisfied after all.

Staying inside the circle of trust

Dear God,
I trust in Your actions.
I trust in Your plan.
I trust that You take care of all of Your children.
I trust that You will never leave me.

And I pray that I never leave You.

An anniversary of sorts

Tomorrow marks the one-month point after Morgan died. Four weeks ago, our nightmare began. Twenty-eight days ago, I contemplated offing myself while staring at Brent through tear-stained eyes as he slept.

But it's also that same amount of time that I've kept moving one small step forward. And even though it felt like I stumbled three steps back, my friends, familiy and co-workers forced me to shuffle ahead. And, so three days after Brent and I celebrated our four-year (dating) anniversary over a glass of wine and seafood, we'll also be remembering our little angel in Heaven.

That brings me to another epiphany. It's amazing how many other people - both women and men -- have told me their stories. People with whom I wouldn't normally socialize or share the deepest secrets inside my soul. Yet, they were so inclined to share their grief-ridden stories of lost little ones with me. People with whom I wouldn't spend more than 10 minutes in a conversation. People with whom I wouldn't associate outside of the newspaper's sterile, blah-ness walls.

I'll tell you one thing that I do know now. I don't assume the worst about people. I give people the benefit of the doubt. Because you never truly know what scars they hide.  OK -- I'm at least trying!