Harder

When my mom called to tell me that my dad had passed away, I wasn't shocked. I was sad, but not surprised. I don't even remember a lot of tears right away. It was more like, okay, lets get through the funeral. When I was told that my brother was gone, I was in shock. It was like I was standing outside myself listening to the conversation happening. I nearly hit the floor. Literally, my husband had to catch me and lower me to the ground. It was like compounding grief, we hadn't even gotten to the meat of mourning my dad and here we were at it again.

The next week was just stupid. The crappiest Deja Vu ever. Picking out plots, looking at urns, writing the obituary. We were all such a mess. I never imagined that I would go through anything harder than that. Boy was I wrong.

As much as we hate to admit it, we expect that our parents will die before us. And siblings, well, somebody has to go first. But no one ever imagines that one of their kids could go before them. Parents aren't suppose to outlive their children. Period. Yet, the worlds first set of parents did that very thing, just as myself and many others are doing it now. And it REALLY sucks. It's just not fair.

When I first realized how much more I hurt over losing Ila, than I did my dad or brother, I was puzzled and felt a little guilty. How could I hurt so much more over losing someone that I never met outside my body than these two amazing men I loved my entire life? A parent's love for our children is so immense, so limitless, that nothing can compare to it.

The pain that comes with this, is at times, almost unbearable. Right up to the edge of just wanting to die! My heart is broken and nothing anyone can say or do will fix it. I know it will never be totally mended and I will never be the same. I know it will get easier and life will go on. But while I'm here, on this side of that promise, it hurts. Really bad. I realize now that's it's not how long you love someone, it's how deeply you love them.

It's Mean & Ugly

I'm pissy today. Pissy about nothing, pissy about everything. Nothing set me off, nothing happened to start my bad mood today. It's just here. I'm not mad, I'm not sad, I'm just ugh. Ugh.

Laying down wishing for a nap this afternoon, I looked out the window, only for my view to be blocked by a big shelf decoration that says FAITH. Well it just made me pissy to. Faith in what? "SHOCK, GASP! Did she just say that?" Yep, she did. Faith that my kids will be safe? No. Faith that I will always have a home? No. Faith that we will all have our health? No. Faith that everything will be alright? Absolutely not.

Sure doesn't seem like faith guarantees any of those things. "But Bobbi, the bible says 'ask and it shall be given to you'"! And I have to respond "Well, go ahead. Ask, and it might not." Even Jesus was denied a request. It comes down to God's will. And often times, His will, isn't what we want. Often times, it just plain sucks. Yep, I just said that God's will sucks. Did you gasp again? Was it because I put into words something that everyone has thought and not expressed, or because your life is so perfect and God's will for you has always been a smooth and wonderful road without bumps, roadblocks or discomforts?

The faith I have, faith in God, is all I have. But it doesn't make life easy. It doesn't make me feel safe from the darkness of this world. In fact, it puts a big fat target right on your back. One that is unmistakable to the enemy. He makes life hard. He says mean things. “Well, Bobbi, you are just letting Satan steal your joy.” Whatever. I have no joy to be stolen at this very moment. I can't get back what is causing my pain, therefore, the joy that I”m missing at this moment isn't because it's currently being stolen. Go ahead, next time something terrible happens in your life, just rebuke, just pray, just have faith and I'm sure the whole situation will look like as beautiful as a field of wildflowers in no time.

I'm sure I sound bitter, angry, and mean. Maybe I'm all of those. So what. It's how I feel. You think less of me because of it? Does it make it any different that I said it out loud when God already knows what's being said in my heart? I know I'm being molded, reshaped, worked over through this and hopefully I come out better for it on the other side. So what. Still sucks. I still love my Jesus. He knows I'm not down with this, not happy about this at all. but I know He can take it and I know He loves me too.

It's Raw. It's Real.

Lots of people are treating me as if they expect me to be back to normal but I'm a freaking WRECK! I want to know when I will feel better, when I won't hurt sooo much. I want these nice, easy answers..."In 2 more weeks you will be able to cook dinner for your family." "3 weeks and 4 days from now, you will no longer cry every day." “ In just 2 weeks, 6 days you will be able to walk into a group of people and not feel like throwing up.” I'm not functioning normally (and I think that's okay) but what am I supposed to do?? I don't wanna go on play dates, I don't wanna have sleepovers and I don't wanna clean my house. I killed my garden and my house is a wreck. We've eaten out every night since meals stopped coming because the thought of planning and then cooking dinner might as well be the same as building a new space rocket, that's how overwhelming it is.

I need help, but I don't know how to ask for it. I feel like everyone thinks I should be doing better and should be able to handle things but I can't! A few days ago, while I was at Walmart with Stephen to get some milk, he asked if I wanted him to cook out chicken for dinner and what I wanted to make to go with it. I seriously thought I would have a panic attack right then. I couldn't even think of two side items. I started to cry right there on the baking aisle. He was quick to comfort me and come up with another solution. Dinner seems to be my biggest obstacle. I know the house is a wreck, but it will still be a wreck when I am able to focus enough to clean it, it can wait. But I do have to feed my family every day. Thank God for dollar menus!

This last week has been way way way harder than the last few weeks. I don't know why. I didn't expect to hit a harder patch. I think that made it even worse, since I just thought I would continue to get a little better. I'm not. I feel like I'm going backwards. It's probably 'normal' but it sucks. I hate crying. It's always been something I consider pointless since it doesn't make me feel any better and leaves me with a headache. Even though I have shed tears every day, I haven't really CRIED much. Like sobbing. That's what I've been doing this last week. Feeling pain and SOBBING. I guess I need to do it. Still sucks, still hate it.

People avoiding me makes me feel like a freak. My daughter is never going to undie and this event is never going to unhappen. I'm not sure how long they plan on avoiding me. I realize that people don't know what to say, and many fear saying the wrong things. If you have a lack of words, just say 'I'm sorry' or 'I love you'. I'd rather have you say something, unless you plan on saying something really dumb, like “Oh, my dog died last week so I know EXACTLY how you feel.” Your words are better to be said, not left unspoken. I have a friend that started posting a little heart on my FB page every few days. That spoke volumes to me. No words needed. Nothing you can say is going to take my pain away, but your words do have the power of life and CAN make me smile, make me feel loved and make me realize that you haven't forgotten about my Ila Claire.

When A Child Dies...

A friend of mine shared this with me. I think it's great. I thought I would share it with you all...and I kinda added my thoughts at the end...

1. Never tell us that we are doing *it* wrong. *It* is unbearable and we are doing the best there is to do. Honest. If you would do things differently that is fine. But don't tell us. This is not your job or burden to bear and we DO have to do it and you don't.

2. Don't tell us that they are in a better place. We know heaven is nicer than here, but we like them here just fine and really...it feels like you are saying we are not good enough for our child to stay.

3. Please don't tell us ways to save them. We already want to and can't or couldn't.

4. Don't tell us that God *must* heal our child if we just have enough faith. Perfect healing is in heaven for us all and I have yet to meet a Christian who never died. If faith was all it takes to heal everyone NO one would ever die.

5. It hurts us to be told that losing a child to death by sickness or accident is the same a when your 94 year old grandmother died in her sleep 2 years ago. It isn't the same thing at all. We know you are in pain, but it is not the same thing. At all.

6. Please don't expect us to be back to normal in a month and it is a fallacy to say grieving takes a year. We will never be the same and it will take a long time to find our way again. We will never be *over it*.

7. Please help us. Life is so overwhelming that after the death it is hard to even think of HOW to cook a meal, let alone do it. And if our child has not died yet, please offer to help in any and every way possible. If you are far away, money helps us to buy help.

8. Let us cry. We are so sorry that it makes you uncomfortable, but it is a fact of our life now. Tears will come and it doesn't mean that it is bad to talk about our children, only that we are deeply grieving them.

9. It means a lot to us when you remember our child. Expecially later when it feels like everyone has forgotten.

10. Having another baby is not the answer to losing the one that died.

11. It is NOT easier, or harder, that we have other children. No one can replace the one that died.

12. Please don't watch us as though we are about to throw ourselves into the open grave. None of us likes to be thought of as a freak show. And please think of us as something other than the-lady-whose-kid-died. That is a hard definition to live with. But also please be gentle with us for quite a while. We can't handle rough treatment.

13. We may gain weight, or lose weight, or sleep more, or not sleep at all. We may be sad for a long time. It does not mean something wrong with us. It just means we are profoundly changed.

14. We will never be the same as you once knew us. Please don't expect us to be.

15. Remember that our families are hurting too.

16. We can't help you through our child's death. We recognize that it is hard for many people but please don't lean on us as we go through this. We can't hold you up. We have other people that we have to help already. Come and help hold us up instead please. Pretty please?


Warmly,

Corinne Kligmann

My little notes...

2. ==== A friend of mine that lost her two year old son years ago explained this to me and it is soooo true. My selfish stinginess wants my Ila right here, where I can hold her and love her! There's time for heaven later!



5. ==== Comparison of any kind just really isn't fair. Losing your 94 year old grandmother isn't the same as this, and neither is a miscarriage. I struggle with this a lot. I lost my baby, my daughter, but it somehow seems unfair to those that lost an 15 day old, an 11 month old, a 2 year old or a 17 year old, to call what I am going through 'losing a child.' I would never compare my loss to theirs. It still strikes me that I hurt sooooo much over a person that I only knew as a little bump that kicked me. That's part of what hurts so tremendously. I have no memories with her. Not once did I get to see her wiggle, hear her cry or watch her breathe. That hurts more than I can tell you. What I wouldn't give for just one brief moment to have a memory of her with me!

6. ==== This is something else I struggle with. I know people don't know how to act or what to say, but I promise you this, acting as if everything is the same, is not the answer. I got the first 'real' look at what my life could look like for a while when talking to another mom who went through this very thing, not something similar, but this very thing. She said something that hit me “You might just cry a lot this year. And maybe next year.” That's something I've been wanting to know. When will I not cry every day? When will I be able to cook dinner for my family? I want some text book answer so I know when things might be better, but there are no easy answers. Honestly, for me, it's been much harder this week than it has been for the few weeks before that. Perhaps I was just plugging through, trying to make it through the first month. I dunno. I just know that this week, I'm a mess. I'm not okay, I'm sad. Ask me how I'm doing and I will probably lie. I will say I'm fine or I'm okay. I'm lying. I'm so far from okay or fine. If you ask me in person, I will probably just cry and shrug my shoulders.

7. ==== I always enjoyed the meals after having a baby. You are busy nursing and learning all about each other. Grieving is so much harder. You don't remember to eat or to drink or even to sleep. Everything is a fog. I can't tell you how many days we didn't even eat until someone showed up with food for dinner. I'm still not eating. I don't usually eat until dinner unless I meet Stephen for lunch. It's not because I'm not hungry or I don't want to eat, I simply don't remember to do it. I still can't prepare a meal for my family. My kids are living on cereal and sandwiches. Seriously, if we have a hot meal, it's eaten out or it's leftovers that my mother in law sent home with us. I don't know why I can't function on basic levels like preparing a simple dinner, I just can't. I realize it sounds dumb. It sounds dumb to me. Every task is just so overwhelming!

8. ==== I feel like I am a burden to my friends and family. Who wants to sit and listen to someone cry. And cry. And cry. I hate it. I hate crying and I'm not quick to drop tears. If I cry in front of you, feel blessed that I felt comfortable enough and safe enough with you to let them go.

9. ==== I don't feel like anyone has forgotten....yet. But I do have people that are avoiding me and that hurts. Others are simply acting like nothing ever happened. If I run into you at the store, you don't have to say anything, but maybe a sad smile, or a rub my shoulder or something that just says “I know what happened.” To act like the entire thing never occurred not only pisses me off but it's disrespectful to my entire family, or at least I think it is. It also causes me to panic and think... “Oh crap, they don't know. I have to tell them before they ask me when I had the baby because I don't want them to feel bad.” Then I tell them only to hear “Oh ya, I heard.” I ran into a sweet daughter of a friend the other day. The first thing she said was “I heard about your baby and I'm so sorry.” It was such a HUGE blessing that she recognized my baby instead of ignoring her. It really is a big deal.

10. ==== No it isn't. I do want more babies, I wanted them before I lost Ila and I still do. I would like to get pregnant soon, but that isn't because I want to replace my baby girl, and it is important to me that people understand that. I want to get pregnant soon because I have fear about not getting pregnant again and for me, the sooner the better. It took so long last time that I'm fearful it will take a long time again. And I'm just impatient. Oh, and I'm not getting any younger. I don't like the phrase “Will you try again.” That makes it sound like we tried and we failed. I don't mind being asked if we will have more babies or if we plan on getting pregnant again.

11. ====I tend to disagree with this one just a little bit. For sure, no one is replaceable my anyone else, but I know that for me, having other people that depend on me, like my husband and children, is what makes me get up in the morning. If my mom didn't have 3 daughters and a shizbang of grandkids, I'm certain she would have drank special Kool-Aid after my brother died and ended it all. One gal that I met that lost her only child feels like her entire motherhood was stolen from her. So, to some, it does make it a little easier, or a least a little more important, that will stick around and get through this.

12. ==== I'm afraid to go places. Really. I'm afraid to be around others that know me. Especially groups. I don't know why it frightens me, but unless it's a small group of close friends, I almost want to vomit walking into a situation like that right now.

13. ==== I know I'm hard on myself and I guess I expect others to be hard on me too. I do have a great support system and fabulous friends that assure me I can be a mess. Losing weight surprised me. I'm a fat chick, tend to eat my feeling so when the scale was tipped the other day, I was really surprised! I wouldn't recommend grief as a weight loss method, but hey, I guess I'll take it! Sleep doesn't come easy for me and in the morning I'm soooo tired from not sleeping for most of the night.

B.

Why I'm Afraid of the Dark...

Why I'm afraid of the dark....ok, I'm not really afraid of the dark, but nighttime now brings a new set of thoughts and feelings. When the day settles down and my distractions are few, my mind has time to roll over things that hurt. There is time to go over what happened, remember Ila's sweet face, and miss her so intensely that I usually cry.

If Stephen falls asleep to long before me, I almost panic. I hate being alone. I can do nothing but pray and rebuke the devourer. If I don't, I get attacked. It sucks. I toss and turn for ages. Sometimes, if sleep won't come, I get up. But still, I don't want to be alone. Its at that time when some lucky soul that happens to be online gets all of my emotional vomit in their lap. It's when I really need a listening ear and encouraging words.

In addition to the heartache, I also have a headache. I've had one everyday since i gave birth. At first I figured it was from dehydration and crying, and it probably was, but since now I don't spend the entire day crying and I do remember to drink water, my guess is that it's hormonal. I wake up each day with a light headache but it usually goes away, or it's minimal enough that I don't notice it while going about my day. Evening hits and I start to feel it. It gets gradually worse all evening and by bedtime it's terrible. The longer I stay up, the worse it gets, and it's hard to go to sleep because I have a headache and I'm thinking about my baby girl.

One Month

Today, July 2nd, marks one day since I had my little girl. I expected it to be a hard day. Don't get me wrong, it was hard, but it was not as hard as I expected. The morning was difficult. We got up and started to get ready to go to Enid. The day kind of loomed ahead of me. I knew it would be hard, and it was as if it was already planned out for me, like the weather man saying "and today folks, we have a 100% chance of sadness with a huge possibility of tears".

We ventured out of town and the clock in the van seemed much larger than it really is. As the minutes clicked by I recalled what was happening to me at that same moment a month ago. As the hour of Ila's birth neared, my stomach knotted up. I don't know why the minutes mattered any more than the day itself.

Just as we got everyone into my mother in law's house the tears started to come. I didn't really hide so much as go out of the way a bit to avoid making everyone else sad. My sweet husband 'found' me and loved on me. He's such a great comfort. This last month I haven't wanted to be away from him at all.

We left the boys at Grandma's house and headed out to prepare the lake house for the upcoming holiday. I scrubbed and cleaned all day while Stephen and his dad took care of the outdoor work. It was nice to spend the day helping someone else. I thought of Ila often but didn't spend my day in a puddle, which was what I anticipated after the last couple days being so hard. So many friends offered me such comfort and a needed release just by listening to me talk ( or type ).

As we finished our days work and headed back into town, I started to get that knotted feeling again. We had planned to go out to the cemetery with the boys to show them where she is buried and place a pretty pink pinwheel we picked out. The closer we got, the sicker I felt. I honestly thought I might throw up, literally this time! I sent a text to a few prayer warrior friends of mine and asked them to pray for me. I'm not one to go to cemeteries and put out flowers and such. But for some reason, it was important to me to go there today.

Just how most things turn out, it was different than I expected. When we first arrived I kind of stalled a little at the van while half the family ran on ahead. When I made my way over to my family, I wasn't crying or throwing up. I was kind of a numb feeling for a bit. When Stephen and I started talking is when my tears started to pour out. I love him so much and I'm sad for him too, he also, lost his lil' cupcake.

We talk about our baby, our boys and had a sweet moment reflecting on a special aspect of her name. While gathering up our troops we meander through the cemetery and little Stephen talks to me about a couple of headstones. He questions one that has two names but one name only has one date. I told him it was a husband/wife plot but the wife was still alive. He seemed completely baffled by that and really made a face when I said Meme's headstone was already there. We drove over to where my Dad, grandma and brother are buried to show him. As soon as Danny jumps out of the car he points at my dads headstone, not even knowing it's his Papa's, and yells "I call that motorcycle!!!" It lightened the mood in a perfect way.

Tonight I am grateful that I got to tuck my boys into bed, sing Jesus Loves Me, kiss my husband and remember my daughter. Tonight, with a peace that only God can provide, I will sleep. Today was a good day.

6 years, 4 weeks and 2 days

What a dumb day! You would think getting your braces off would be a good day, albeit a bit painful. Not so in this case. In fact, it was one of the worst 'good' days I've had. It reminded me very much of my 16th birthday, another of those days that was suppose to be great but ended up sucking big time.

Slide backwards a few years...ok almost 1/2 my life ago... Sweet 16, something to get excited about eh? My oldest sister, Ronda, bought me roses and balloons and had them delivered to the school. My other sister, Renda, came to town to take me after school to get my license. Lunch time rolls around and I run out to the parking lot to discover that both of my lunch buddies have abandoned me. My boy friend thought I was going with my best friend and my best friend, Kenda, thought I was going with my boyfriend.

Nice. Alone, on my birthday, my 16th birthday, carrying around a bunch of roses and balloons. I go to the office to call my sister to tell her that I'm not staying at school the rest of the day and ask her to please come get me now! I then walk out to the parking lot lovingly dubbed "BFE" where Kenda's Granny Wagon is parked. (Sidebar - It may have seemed like an old station wagon but we LOVED the Granny Wagon! It was awesome! And nobody could do the Washington 'Dip' better than Kenda in the Granny Wagon!) All my stuff was LOCKED inside the Granny Wagon. All my stuff, my purse, my books, my backpack. We lived like a block away from each other, it's not like I couldn't have just got everything from her after school. But that isn't the point!

I see that the little flip window was open and try to stick my arm in to unlock the door, no good. My arm is way to short. The vice principal is driving through the lot about that time and I am sure I'm about to get in trouble for trying to break into a car. When he gets out I just started to explain that all my crap is in the car and I'm locked out and everyone left me for lunch...all while on the brink of tears. So, like any good principal, he helped me break into the Granny Wagon. He never asked if it was my car...and I never said it wasn't. So after several near melt downs my sister shows up, I get my crap and we are off. I wish that today had been that good of a day...

I don't do mornings. I just don't. I hate being up early, and early to me is before 9:30 and even then, I'm not happy about my sleep being over. Today I had to get up and take Stephen to work since we are a one van family right now. I get back home just in time to get everyone ready since I have an appointment at 10:20 to get my braces off! Yippee!

9:35 - All kids dressed, all kids loaded into the van...wait, there is one missing... why is the oldest not here... He's getting the dog hooked up on his chain, but then here he comes with the dog collar in hand and the dog close behind him. "I was looking at some birds and I tripped and spilled his dog food and it was too far from his chain for me to hook him up..I tried to drag him over to it, but he slipped out of his collar."

I hop out of the van, have Stephen fetch some ham, and head back to Duke's chain. After untangling it from the pole I use the ham to get him close to the collar, but he's fast and dodges in and out to quickly. After a few more tries we get him recollared and hooked to his chain. In house, wash hands, out of house, back in van, on way.

We arrive at Stef's house to unload all the kids that are staying with her. Randon is going with me since he has a consult appointment since his teeth are just like mine were, jacked up. After the dog fiasco, we are running late so I run kids in and run back out and we are off. All is well. We had to go the south office for this appointment so it is quite a drive. We get there only 5 minutes late, doing good. We get back to the room fairly quickly and I take my seat in the exam chair. Everyone is amazed that I am FINALLY getting these suckers off. Doc comes in and starts snapping off those brackets. The force it took to get them off, I am surprised that kids break them off so often. It doesn't really hurt much, just like the pressure when they change my wires and not as bad as when they would pull those power chains so tight I think my teeth might shatter.

Then he gets out his little drill with the sandpaper style head on it and starts grinding away the glue spots on my teeth. Not so bad....except the assisting, Heidi, is squirting water in my mouth too and the limited suction is causing me to feel like I'm drowning. Every now and again when I start to gag and sputter, they pause and get the lake out of my mouth. Now...they get to my front teeth, and they are sensitive. That drill and cold water was more than I bargained for. I was white knuckling the mirror they had given me to hold in one hand and the exam chair with the other. I even made some noise a few times that I needed a second. They would just keep on going with no reprieve until I started thrashing my feet a little bit or pulling my head back! Not fun! If you have ever had a cavity and then taken a big drink of ice cold water and it hit that cavity and it sent you to the roof...it was like that, only on several teeth at one time and I couldn't just warm my mouth back up or make it stop in any way! NO BUENO!!

My heart rate is through the roof and I'm actually getting nauseous and shaky over all this. I must say, I'm a touch chic, and I've been through hell and back with my teeth, jaw and face over the past 7 years and I can handle a LOT of dental pain. Not saying this to brag, just to express the magnitude of the disaster of today considering all that I have been through with dental work, oral surgery, oral surgery, orthodontics, oral surgery, oral surgery and more orthodontics. After more grinding of glue, drowning on water and being sent to the roof, we are done. Oh, Happy Day, the braces are off and my teeth are smooth and I'm not even sore. I know they will ache a little in the days to come, but usually I leave that place feeling like I want a chocolate shake for dinner (eaten with a spoon since even sucking through a straw hurts like crazy).

We then have to do my impressions, which I have done twice before, and already knew they weren't fun and make you want to gag. Two lower, two upper. No biggie. Done. Pick up retainers in a couple hours. Got it, can do!

Now it's Randon's turn for his consult. They had already done his x-rays while I was being drilled to death by the glue getter. Doc takes a look, tells me what's going, no surprises, let's do it. His impressions didn't go as well as mine. He screams, he cries, he kicks, he pukes. Twice. A quick visit with Sami, a sweet, quiet young gal who is an expert on the financial end of this mess, 600 bucks later and a contract for a few thousand more we are done. Again. Praise God, lets go eat.

Randon picks Chick-Fil-A for lunch and we go in, sit down and enjoy a nice lunch together recalling some of the horror we had just experienced together that has surely bonded us for life while causing him years of therapy and me years of Xanax use. With still a little time to kill before we have to pick up my retainers (which will be quick in, quick out) we decide to run to Michael's which is only about ten miles away according to my husband. We head out in the direction he sends us only to end up NOT where he told us we would. Then he argues with me about where I am and where I am not. Whatever, I get there....way after I expected to, run in, don't have what I want, run out and head back to the torture chamber, I mean the orthodontics office.

We run in and sit. And sit. And sit. I finally approach the counter to remind the front desk gal, Anna that I have to go all the way back to Edmond to relieve my sitter of the 7 kids she has and her shift was up hours ago. Normally I would be thrilled to wait there for an hour if need be since I'm usually childless and can read a magazine and never once have to say something like "Will you please not shove your brother's finger up his nose....or your nose." They got me back quickly so I know we are on the home stretch. Lets try these suckers on, adjust to fit and head home. Or not.

Kim comes in with these mouth pieces for me that look like I'm in the corner prepping to fight Rocky. She asks me to try them on. I get the bottom one on no problem, the top doesn't fit so well. It's down fairly low in my mouth. I know they want me to wear these all the time and that is just laughable considering I sounded like I had an entire Snickers bar stuck to the roof of my mouth. Doc comes in and takes a look. Oh, no, that isn't all the way on...so he jams it up over my teeth while I try not to die. Once in, the retainer itself didn't hurt. My left molars did since they were the only teeth making any contact with each other when I bit down. I always love it when they say "Bite down. (pause) Bite down all the way on your back teeth." I freaking am, but only a couple of them touch each other okay!

Doc sits up the chair and suggests I practice taking them in a out a few times before hitting the road. Sure, no problem. Bottom one out, back in, back out, back in. Tada! I'm a pro! Now for the top. Umm, this isn't working, it's not coming out...at all. "You will probably have to use your fingernails to pull down on both sides to get it down." Doc says. Uh huh, yea, um, no. Not moving. My nails are like paper and bend and shred at the slightest use so there is no way these weak babies are getting this new super glued layer of nightmare plastic off my teeth. Clearly, it will have to stay on forever. Kim comes in again and says she will help me get it off. She takes a crack at it and it's still on. I'm certain it's now permanent, or I will want it to be after they start trying to pry it off.

Kim disappears for a minute and comes back donning this little pink plastic thingy with a hook at one end. She tried to hook it on the retainer and pull down. Again with the white knuckling! After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably more like a year or so, it's about 1/2 way off. Randon is visibly concerned and comes to my side to hold my hand. As Kim starts to tug on it again I start to grip whatever is near as my teeth feel like they are being pulled from my mouth. I push Randon's hand away after I realize I am digging my nails into his wrist and grab onto the arm rest. It literally felt like 3 or 4 of my teeth were being torn from their sockets as the retainer was being pulled down. There were tears in the corners of my eyes and my heart was beating like crazy. I could feel my blood pressure rise and my hands start to shake.

With all that I have had done to my face, there have only been three times I have wanted to scream, cry or kick someone. Once was when a young guy at the orthodontics office was replacing a wire and was jamming the end into the flesh at the back of my mouth so deep I almost kicked him. I guess he stopped when my mouth pooled with blood. The second was during a follow up to one of my oral surgeries where a shunt was placed in my cheek to drain infection from a previous surgery into my mouth (yes, it was a gross as it sounds). My doc was unavailable so some torturous fellow filled in and squeezed my face so hard with some pointy tweezers that he bruised my cheek. I almost kicked him too, really...I was thrashing pretty good. I swear he enjoyed it.

Kim had to stick the retainer remover in a few different spots to get the retainer off of my teeth and out of my mouth. Each place it was put felt like it was being stabbed with needles since my gums were swollen and sensitive. After it was finally off, I laid in the exam chair, flustered and depleted while texting my husband about the horrifying experience. It's a good thing he wasn't there, he wouldn't have been very nice with me in pain, even when it wasn't anyone's fault.

Kim worked on the retainer and came back and tried again. Similar experience as before but with a little less tugging, while knuckling and tears. She goes back yet another time to work on the retainers. Finally this time I don't want to run screaming from the place when I put them on. Taking them off still hurts like crazy, but it's doable without screaming or striking anyone. In other words, it's safe to come into the bathroom while I'm doing it, but don't ask me for anything because the answer is still "OOooowww!!"

Completely wiped out both physically and emotionally, Randon and I drag our defeated selves to the van and drive back to Stef's with very minimal exchange of words. We get back to Stef's and wonder into the house. Kids are mostly outside but a they venture in a couple at a time and view my new look, a look some of them have never seen before since it hadn't existed during their lifetime. After apologizing profusely for being extremely late and messing up Stef's date with Eli, I decided to load up the kids and head out. Problem number 1, shoes. Everyone has taken off their shoes in different places and only one kid could locate and put his one without assistance from everyone around! After what seemed like forever, the kids are shoed and shoved out the door. I run back in to grab the keys but can't find them anywere.

Stef and I, along with the oldest kids start hunting down the keys. We look under the table, all through my purse (three times) and all over the kitchen before finding them....in the van. Locked. In. The. Van. As this sinks in I flip the switch and start with the psycho mommy voice and try to retain some semblance of control over the situation, kids and myself. Some are looking better than others. Micah pulls up just in time to enjoy the near miss of a psycho mommy melt down. He finds a wire hanger and he and Stef attemp to break into my van while I head for the medicine cabinet for something that might help me to not scream bloody murder and run down the street waving my arms around like a maniac.

Finally, the car thieving couple get the deed done and we are in the car...with the keys. I load up 4 children so we can pick up Daddy from work, then Landon from work, then Lynley from Grandma's to take Landon home, and Lynley to our house.

Since I hadn't gone grocery shopping yet our options for dinner were chicken and nothing. So Lynley and Aven go to the store to get some side dishes for our dinner while I lay down in my bed and shut the door. I feel straight to sleep. I know it wasn't long, since the store isn't very far, but that little bit of time, that brief check out of reality, did wonders for the rest of the night. My blood pressure my still have been a little up...but I was able to calmly enjoy some grilled chicken and shells and cheese with my family.

I wish I had some grand ending to this terrible story but I don't. I've been told so many times over the past 6 years, 4 weeks and 2 days "Oh you will be so glad you did it when it's all over." I've been told countless times between visits to the oral surgeon (to have my lips peeled back, gums sliced open and bones chiseled and spread apart, teeth removed, shunts put in and shunts taken out) "Oh, it's not that bad and it won't be forever." And I've heard it said many times as I go back and forth to the orthodontist (to have brackets put on, expanders put in, removed, retainers in, retainers out, bands here, spacers there, buttons here, power chains there, springs here, hooks there) "It will be all worth it when it's over!"

Well guess what all of you people who have said "You will be glad you did it, "It won't last forever or "It will be worth it when it's done." It's over, it didn't last forever, it's done and you know what? I wish I had never done any of this. It was not worth it, it was a terrible experience I would never wish to repeat and I would wipe it from my history of experiences if I could. Perhaps it's just easy for me to sit here and type this since I'm no longer in the place I was in before we began this journy. That place where I couldn't open my mouth wide enough to get in a Hershey's Kiss. If I had to visit there again I might reconsider...I do love a Hershey's kiss......Nah, there's always chocolate shakes!