This is just going to be a rambling, free-form sort of post. My thoughts at this moment in no particular order.
Grief is an interesting thing.
You can't predict it, you can't structure it, you can't organize it.
While I was watching the valiant efforts of the medical team try to save the life of our dear Ella,
I felt numb.
Disconnected from myself.
Focused on my son-in-law and husband, who were sobbing openly.
Focused on my daughter's grim stoic face.
I held back the tears.
But they came later.
They come in waves.
Like the waves of heat that blast your face when you open an oven door.
Like the ocean waves that keep coming and coming.
Then I pull my self together.
And make the heartbreaking phone calls.
Make the necessary plans.
Trying to think of things to ease the pain for my dear ones.
Then the waves return.
Like when the lady at the baby store gives me a beautiful crystal bracelet.
For our little Ella to wear in her casket.
And throws her arms around me and holds me while I sob.
Or when the labor and delivery nurse who attended Amy writes a sweet note,
attached to her generous donation for Ella's funeral expenses.
But then I can laugh myself silly at a movie last night (Wild Hogs) on tv.
And have wonderful conversations with my kids in Amy's hospital room.
And we can giggle over our family's idiosyncrasies.
And speaking of my kids,
My patriarchal blessing tells me my children will be a comfort to me.
Wow, is that ever being fulfilled, in an amazing way.
Each of them, with their own unique talents and gifts, bring a huge measure of comfort.
For those of you who still have little ones at home.
Just you wait until they are adults.
You will never love them more.
I think my cousin Anne gave some awesome advice.
Breathe. Take one day at a time. Carry a box of kleenex in the car.
Better words were never spoken.