Tag Archives: time

May 19, 2013 · 9:49 pm

Time

Time … it’s been two years.  Two years since I saw Owen alive for the last time.  Two years since my home was filled with EMTs and policemen.  Two years since I was just a “normal” triplet mom – not the triplet mom that has to explain where the third one is.

I’ve painted my nails orange.  I’m bringing dinner to the firehouse that answered my call on May 21, 2011.  I’ve invited my closest friends and family for a bonfire.  Time has changed May in so many ways.  Last year I was so anxious.  Counting the days until the anniversary would arrive.  This year, it sort of snuck up on me.  All of a sudden I found myself saying “I really should plan something – I can’t believe the anniversary is next week already!”

I told a friend on the phone, “I’m doing ok.  I feel strong.  Of course I would do anything to have my son back, but it’s hard to feel beat down when I have been so richly blessed out of this terrible thing.”  See, I also believe that Owen is with the Lord.  There is no better place than that.  He is with the ultimate protector.  I don’t need to worry about where he is or if he is suffering or hurt.  He is dancing and singing.  He is experiencing a supreme happiness.  So when I look at my earthly life – I know I don’t need to worry about Owen anymore.  I am free to graciously accept the blessings that have been poured down on me.

I’ve been thinking about what a difference two years makes and I thought I would read my blog post from two years ago: The Magic 8 Ball Knows All (May 20. 2011) Jaden said I would have another baby – a girl to be exact.  Could he have been foretelling Josie?  The heart I grew and cared for during my 33 weeks and 3 day pregnancy would one day keep another small girl live?  It’s hard to say.  Perhaps it was my god-daughter Leighton?  I’m so in love with her and pray for her as though she were my own child?  Again, hard to say …

I am hung up on just how unknowing I was of what the next day had in store for me.  I had no idea what was coming or that the picture I posted would be the very last I would ever take of my Owen with his eyes open.  I suppose that’s how most tragedies hit – unknowingly.  Smack out of no where.

I’ve got my owenge planned for the week.  I’ve laid my heart in God’s hands.  I ask for His protection this week and for this healing spirit to rejuvenate my broken soul.

Love, Mel

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February 14, 2012 · 9:12 pm

Where is the button for that?

Funny how much you can love and be totally annoyed by the same person at the same time!  I’ve found myself in a constant annoyed state.  I just want it to be quiet.  I just want it to be calm.  I’d like to do my “thing.”  Yet, everyone I live with seems to need me … all at the same time.  Babies are throwing shoes down the basement stairs, climbing on tables, pulling each other’s hair.  Doug is asking me 12 million questions in the first 3 minutes of being home.  Jaden is upset because one of the babies is running away with his DS.  The soup on the stove is boiling over.  I have completely lost control of my home.

I love my family so much.  I would do anything for them but I just want to find a mute button.  Do they sell one of those at Target?  I’ll put it on my grocery list.  Maybe I’ll even find a coupon for one.  Double bonus.

Life is so brief.  It’s so short.  Whether you live to be 6 months or 90 years old, I don’t think there is enough time to do everything I want.  There will never be enough time to read all the books I want to read.  Crochet as many hats in as many colors as I’d like.  Learn to sew … not just hem a pair of pants, but really sew.  I’ll never have time (or the money) to see all the corners of the world.  I’ll never have enough time to watch my kids grow.  Do more for my church.  Meet enough people.  Hear enough stories.  Eat enough chocolate.  There just isn’t enough time.  How I wish I didn’t need sleep … I could do so much more with my short time on earth.

How do I choose what to focus on?  What is the most important?  How do you pick?

I just feel on edge and like I can’t get to everything.  I would like a pause button for everything going on around me so I can catch up.  Just pause the babies eating breakfast so I have more time to update the church website while I enjoy another cup of coffee.  I don’t want to miss out on the time I have with my babies … I just want more time for other stuff.  Again … where is the button for that?

I know that these are the years of sacrifice.  Carpe Diem and all that jazz.  I know that this too shall pass.  When the kids go to school there will be more time.   But will it be enough time?  I just feel like it will never be enough time for me.  Life in itself is just too short.

Love, Mel

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December 13, 2011 · 10:23 pm

Xmas Preparations

As everyone else is, I’ve been super busy getting ready for Christmas.  We are celebrating with Doug’s family this weekend … so I really have until tomorrow night to have all my Bissing Christmas stuff done.  It’s making my palms sweat just typing about it.

So I’ve been busy … but there is always time in my schedule for some good music.  Music has brought me comfort in my darkest times and it’s also been there for my best of times.  My favorite one-armed musician, Tony Memmel (also writer and singer of Owen’s Song) just released a new Christmas music video.

Take some time, listen to this catchy tune and enjoy!  Remember to take five minutes a day to yourself. (That might be more of a reminder to myself these days …)

Love, Mel

ps Share the video with your friends and family!

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June 29, 2011 · 10:24 pm

It’s Time to Ask for Help

I haven’t written in a few days, partially because I don’t have much to say.  I haven’t figured out how I feel yet to be able to put it into words.  It’s also partially because it’s all dark and yucky.  I don’t like being so down all the time … the dark one who only speaks of her son who has passed.  But honestly?  It’s all I can think of.  Every few minutes, if not seconds, I think about it.  Sometimes it’s a flash back of finding him in his crib.  Other times it’s a fond memory like how I could feel his butt right in the middle of my stomach while pregnant, or the raspberries he used to blow or how he always slept in the same position (flat on his back, arms spread above his head).

The anxiety is more intense.  The numbness of shock is starting to wear off.  But it’s all messy and jumbled.  Nothing makes much sense.  Am I angry or just in severe pain?  Am I crying because I miss him or because I’m hurting?  I can’t breathe – is it because of the memories of the past or the thoughts of the future without him?  Perhaps it’s a little of everything, but it all bleeds into itself.  Pain comes out as anger.  Sadness as a short temper or fatigue.  Nothing is what is seems to be or should be.

It’s time to start talking to someone.  I’ve been a big supporter of counseling for a while now.  I found that it helped through some high school depression, was a comfort when away at college and now something I go back to when I need it.  (I don’t usually talk openly about going to counseling, but I figured I’ve blogged about the most painful part of my life, I might as well let readers in on how I recover from it.)  I’m not sure how I want to go about this.  Do I talk to someone one on one?  Or maybe to a pastor?  Or would a support group make the most sense?

I hesitate if it’s even going to help.  No one will understand completely.  No one’s story is like ours.  No one knew Owen as a son like Doug and I.  I think of the parts of the story that I cling to.  Being a part of triplets, Jaden, the blog, finding him, the medical tests, donating his organs.  Who else will be able to relate to our story?  Perhaps someone else has blogged about it, but was their story as public as ours?  If their child was a triplet, was he 6 months old and did he have an older brother?

If their story isn’t the same as mine, how can they possibly know what I”m feeling?  And if they don’t know how I feel, how can they help?

I know help is out there.  Books, support groups, counselors, therapists, etc.

There are friends who have the ability to make me feel better, even if it’s just for a little while.  Take tonight … after flying the coop and going for a little ‘shopping therapy’ at Michael’s craft store, all it took was a text to a friend.  ”Want to grab a cup of coffee tonight?”  She met me for dinner.  For 2 short hours, I had a little break; I didn’t feel as heavy.  Even if it wasn’t permanent, it was a break for just a little while.  I need to remember to come up for air every once in a while.  The breaks are what helps me sustain my strength.

We talked a lot about Owen and how I was feeling.  What was becoming hard, what did I think about all the time.  We talked about how we both cope.  She didn’t do all the listening … which was nice.  It gave me a chance to think about something else.  It also let me know that she trusted me.  She shared just as much as I did.  I wasn’t alone in the conversation.  That’s what it was … not a therapy or listening session, but a dinner between two friends having a good conversation.

I love her, not because she knows me the best, but because she doesn’t look at me or treat me like I’m broken.  She also doesn’t treat me like nothing has happened.  She treats me like Mel.  The woman who lost her son, but is still searching for reasons to smile.  Who still enjoys her three living boys.  Who wants to get better, and get stronger each day.  She doesn’t try to understand how I feel.  She doesn’t validate that what I’m feel is ok or right.  She’d never be able to work for Hallmark — she doesn’t offer greeting card responses.  Rather, she responds with questions to better (not fully) understand.  She offers parts of her own story.  We laugh.  Our dinner was just what I needed tonight.

I have a feeling, this ‘emotion jambalaya’ is only going to get worse as more of the numbness wears off.  But I think I’m ready to ask for help …

Love, Mel

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June 21, 2011 · 10:26 pm

Where do broken livers go?

I decided to get out of the house today and get some things from Target. While in the picture frame aisle I got a call from Annette our Donor Network Coordinator. I was happy to hear from her as the two little girls have weighed heavily on my mind these last few days. After she made sure it was an ok time to talk (as if her calling wasn’t the highlight of my day! Next to my lunch company of course), I took a deep breath, why was she calling me?

Then the sentence … I wanted to call you and let you know before you got your letter in the mail. Ugh the sick feeling in my stomach. What went wrong? Was it his heart or his liver? Please tell me not both.  Just tell me and get it over with.  Rip the band-aid off.  The little girl who received Owen’s liver was doing great … then she started to deteriorate.  She was put back on the liver transplant list and she just received another liver.  My gut was twisted … Owen’s gift had failed.  A piece of him died again.  I fought through the feeling and forced myself to thank the heavens that the little girl was still alive.

I had thought (and accepted) that his gift would be his liver but really he gave the gift of time.  The little girl would have died if it weren’t for Owen’s gift.  She still lives.

What happens to a “bad” liver?  Is there a Goodwill for failed organs?  Compost pile?  One of those garbage cans with the foot pedal that opens the lid?

Part of me wants his liver back.  If the little girl can’t use it, maybe someone else could.  I feel like I should bury it, like a dead pet or a time capsule.  It was apart of Owen, and I want it back.  If it could save a girl’s life, then of course have it!  But it doesn’t live within her anymore.  It was tossed away, broken.  Like a item you lend to a friend.  If it can be of use to you, please use it as long as you like.  But when you’re done,  I’d like it back.

I  have to absorb the news.  I find that I need to grieve the loss of his liver, almost more than him.  He died, again.  He was supposed to live on.  A girl’s blood flow through his liver.  This was the hope that I was living in.  This was the happiness I chose to believe in rather than let his death cripple me.  This was my crutch and it’s fallen out from beneath me.  Am I strong enough to walk without it?

After Annette shared this news with me I thought “well I guess we won’t be meeting that family.”  Why would the family even care to meet us anymore?  For us, it’s been the ‘happy’ event on the horizon.  Meeting the donor recipient families.  Now?  Owen’s gift won’t mean as much to the receiving family as the actual liver within their daughter.  Another dream I had for Owen, slipped through my fingers.

My mom asked me, “What would you do if you were in the other family’s shoes?  Would you still want to meet you?”  At first I didn’t know … I felt like I would be so overwhelmed and connected to the family of the actual organ.  But then I thought back to Owen’s story.  A NICU nurse, who worked on Owen the night it all happened, came through the line at the funeral.  She was so upset and just kept repeating how sorry she was; she thought she was going to save him.  She wished she could have done more.  My response?  But you DID help me!  You gave him time.  The very same word … all those that worked on Owen that night gave Owen the same gift that he gave another little girl.  They gave him a chance.  The little girl would have died without Owen’s liver.  She didn’t have time to wait for another.

If Owen had died that night, and his heart never started beating on its own, he never would have been able to donate his heart, liver and kidneys.  If not for the paramedics and nurses that night, he would have been just another baby who died in his crib.  But he is Owen, the little warrior, the color orange.  He’s so much more.

But will the family see life the same as I do?  Perhaps they will.  In the event that they don’t, then what?  Be patient and know that I am God.  Breath.  One step at a time.  It’s not something that I can control, so I need to let it go.  I will have my answer soon, and there won’t be much I’ll be able to do about it.  Breathe.

What did this do to the other family’s story?  What have they been through the past three weeks?  Transplant, rejection, another transplant.  I have to keep praying for the strength to believe that He sees the greater picture.  God knows what good will come of this and the meaning.  My job is to believe, be patient, be still.  Breathe.

While my heart is a little heavier today, I inhale hope for peace and I exhale my worry and questions.  In with the good, out with the bad.  Breathe.  In … out … in … out …

Love, Mel

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May 31, 2011 · 8:54 pm

Time

The time was going so slow. I just wanted this to be over. I was almost looking forward to sharing Owen’s story. Who pressed the fast forward button? Owens funeral is looming on the horizon.

Will I find the right words? Will I be able to express my gratitude? How will I possibly make it thru the whole day? When I dress in the morning, should I wear makeup? I haven’t cried in days …. I’m so numb. Will it be the same tomorrow?

I want to slow time down. I’m not ready to burry my son. He has so much more to do in life … Kindergarten, try more foods other an sweet potatoes, graduate from high school, fall in love, have kids of his own. I’m broken that he won’t do any of these.

I’ve been trying to think of something on a happier note to share. Perhaps a Jaden story. But I cant find nothing. My mind is full of Owen. Flashes of that Saturday night.

Finding him in his crib FLASH. Laying him on the floor FLASH. Starting chest compressions. His eyes were open FLASH. At Waukesha Memorial trying to stand in the corner. Such a huge relief when his heart started to beat again FLASH.

And it just keeps going. I’m trying to stay focused on the present, on Logan, Jaden and Weston. It will come. It will get worse before it gets better. But it will come. I pray that I am strong enough.

I know it’s ok to need my friends and family … I am just numb now. I fear when I will start to feel and it cripples me. I pray for continued strength.

Love, Mel

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May 26, 2011 · 2:32 pm

Where we’re at

More waiting. We met with the BloodCenter of Wisconsin about Owen’s donations/gifts. Filled put all kinds paperwork. Was asked all kinds of family medical questions. (which ironically I found humor in the questions). I’ll be able to hold Owen one last time, without any tubes or wires. I just wish that when I wrap my arms around him, finally, I’ll be able to magically bring him back.

His swelling has gone down and he looks like himself again. My sweet chunky little man. His eyes look like themselves … Still lifeless. He looks like he is sleeping and not so sick. It’s harder now to look like him. I find myself screaming inside to just wake up. Come on Owen, open those eyes, wake up from your long nap.

We took off the EEG things that have cluttered his head. His head was covered in oils and nasties from the glue. The nurse and I washed his head and combed his hair. While as a mom, it was a sigh to finally care for him and clean him, it’s harder to look at him. He’s as I remember him. Peaceful and resting. No longer sick and fighting.

Doug and I have a lot of decisions to make and aren’t really sure where to start. I guess a funeral home is the first step. Then things like what will he wear, what music will we play, photos to put out, verses to read. We should have food and snacks. What car will we drive there, who will watch the babies.

My hope is to have a place to be with him. A park, a path, a bench. Just something that has a plaque. His name, birthday, and death. To continue his story … Even of people don’t know of this blog or what happened on that saturday in may, they will read his name and wonder who he was. Maybe even think of who he might have been, who he could have been.

Like with Owen’s miracle, there will be answers with time. Time for answers. Time for healing and time for peace. Time for crying. Time for anger. To to scream and throw a fit.

My roots are deep in my family, kids and faith. I stand unwavering in the winds of tragedy. My leaves will begin to fall as time wears on. My branches will be bare and small twigs might break off. But as the seasons change and time endures, my leaves will come again. This tree will bloom. Flowers will decorate my branches and my Owen will have a place to perch.

Time. It’s the only part of me that keeps moving without any thought.

Love, Mel

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May 24, 2011 · 7:57 pm

Here it begins

The paralyzing meds have just been turned off. We don’t expect to see anything right away. But when changing his diaper and repositioning him with the nurse, his blood pressure changed. This is exactly what we wanted. She explained that it could be him realizing that someone was moving him.

We wait more. Doug and I just ordered some food. I’m going to read Owen his emails before I try to sleep a little. I think I only posted it on Facebook…if you’d like to email Owen directly you can send your note to owenbissing@gmail.com

I pray that the next hours proves to be witness to the power of pray. The light is on Owen, come on home.

Love, Mel

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