Nine months. Nine things.

273 days
39 weeks
9 months
Since I lost my Lucy.

It has been quite sometime since I have blogged. Life has been busy with the kids out for summer. And I sometimes feel like a broken-record and I don't want to just continually sing the same song over and over to people. But today I just want to share nine things, in memory of the nine months since my baby girl was taken, that reflect my heart and my iron-gated mind. Know that this is what is floating around in my head 99% of the time, and maybe 3 people have heard actual bits and pieces that have escaped.

one.

She had an absolutely beautiful name, Lucy Selah, and a personality-perfect nickname, Goose. Please use them. Our children have begun to use it more, while playing, while talking, not a day goes by now that I don't hear it half a dozen times. And it brings so much peace to my soul every time they do. Because it is a subtle outward reminder to me that they haven't forgotten their sister.

We almost didn't name her Lucy. We had known from the moment Zoee was born, that if we had another girl she would be Lucy. But when the day came we had acquaintances that were preparing to name their baby girl (due a little over 4 months earlier than us), Lucy. We sat trying to find another name that came close and came up with nothing. I am grateful everyday that we stuck with our original choice, because Lucy was a Lucy. No other name could have fit her more perfectly. She was our light. I have no shame in admitting that when Hansen's Middle of Nowhere album came out I was a fan. Particularly of their song Lucy. I never bothered to really comprehend the words they sang until I, too, left my Lucy. Unfortunately, not by choice and my baby didn't get to say goodbye, but the lyrics reflect my heart just the same.

The day that I left Lucy

A tear fell from her eye 

Now I don't have nobody, and I was such a fool

On the day that I left Lucy.

The day that I left Lucy she cried, then said goodbye

Now it's done, and it's over, and I am all alone

On the day that I left Lucy

Now I don't have anymore songs to sing

'Cause you were everything, everything to me

I didn't realize I felt this way, until that day

Today I'm missing Lucy, and you say that she's OK, I hope she is.

Now I don't have nobody and no one will ever replace...

My Lucy

I love Lucy, Lucy...

On the day that I left Lucy...my Lucy

two.

Talk about her. Talk about her from before she was diagnosed. About her journey. About how she has affected you. Nothing you say could upset me. (But please, don't test this with outrageous statements- see number six.) She was my everything (another blog post one of these days), and to not have her here is a pain that cannot be comprehended by most anyone we know. But nothing makes my heart soar more than to hear her name, talk about her journey or to laugh about her goofy antics. So please, if something is ever on your mind and you are trying to decide whether to say something or not- do it! Text messages, wall posts, comments, actual face-to-face conversation (abnormal, I know)- whatever form you like, please do it. I may not know how to respond. It may be a like, a yellow heart, a sunshine, a smile. But know that inside, my love tank is being filled every time.

three.

Remind me of my other children. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but please do. Gently. A lot of my struggle is remembering that I do still have four beautiful and amazing children on this earth with me. My head can be so consumed in what I have lost, that I forgot to relish in what I do still have. I am trying to be better, but there will always be room for improvement.

four.

Don't forget my husband. I know sometimes even I do when it comes to Lucy. All the time that I was granted with our baby girl while he was working last summer and helping care for our other four, was time that he wasn't. He struggles just the same as I do. He wants to hear his baby's name as much as I do. He needs comforting too. She was just as much a part of him, as she was me.

five.

Counseling. We are in it. I have been since December and Andy just started. It has been pivotal in our processing of the last year. For some reason, it feels taboo to say the word- counseling - like it is something to be ashamed of. I will find any other way to word that I am going, but the fact is I go to counseling to process the trauma of the last 14 months. It isn't some magical cure that I will be happy and stop talking about my baby. Sorry, never going to happen. But I can talk about her, look at her pictures, touch her earthly items left behind, and pick myself back up and rejoin the world with more ease. 

six.

Don't compare. For the love of all that is good and holy, unless you have felt the pain of being forced to walk away from your lifeless child, you do not understand what I am feeling. It is not the same as losing a grandparent, parent, pet, even a sibling. My kids, God-willing, will never know the pain I feel. They have a pain that is all their own, and we will help them to process that as it comes to light for them. But the pain of losing a child, especially one so young, there is no comparison. I will walk away from you, and there will be damage done.

seven.

Faith. I get it. I had/have it? But God is not a magical cure-all. He had his chance to prove that to me and he failed. You can hate that statement, but it is not going to make it any less true to me right now. Trying to continually shove him back into my life is not going to help. I will continue to push back harder. Does that mean I don't believe in him? No. But right now we are on a break. Let it be. If and when I am ready, I will cross that line back into church.

eight.

A piggy-back on seven really, but please stop referencing Job. I get it. I read the book (as a teen, mind you.) Maybe it is fine with Andy, I won't speak for him here. But for me, I swear the next time someone tells me to trudge on because look what Job went through, I may well punch you. With a fractured faith, throwing the story of a dude who lost everything but still came through ok is not helping. At all. If Satan is playing some game with God using me as their pawn, it is definitely not going to help the faith issue.

nine.

Continue to live like Lucy. She had a resilience that astounds me still to this day. She took the total shit-hand that was given to her, and smiled through it. Through counseling, family, good friends I can say that most every day is a good day anymore. Not a day goes by that my Goose isn't on my mind, that I don't miss her sassy little soul. But the good memories outweigh the bad ten-fold these days. Some days, like today, are hard. I break down as my mind automatically plays back that morning with no pause or eject button to reach for, the literal ache in my chest as my heart breaks, yet again, remembering what has been stolen from me. But I stand back up, send love to my girl, and I have to continue on. There is no choice. I will live today like my Lucy would have.

If only I had known what the next three weeks would throw at us.