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Doing the impossible...

May 9, 2014
Mother's Day 2013

Every single time I walk out of my house without multiple bags overflowing with pumps and medical supplies, a list a mile long being checked off in my head before I can even think of backing out of our driveway, and a floppy Lucy with all of her tubes and fluid bags slung over my shoulder to be buckled into her wheelchair...just feels wrong.

Going to bed before 1:30 am (Lucy's last med of the night finished infusing at 1:30am), it brings me to tears almost every night.  We can just roll over and turn off the light.  Really, we can just roll over and go to sleep, before 1:30 am.  No more need to infuse meds, set alarms to remember to flush a med, check infusion pumps and line pressures, monitor vitals, or kiss those sweet sweet Lucy lips one more time.

Waking up after 5:30 am (Lucy's first meds of the day began at 5:30 am) feels just as strange, but doesn't quite bring me to tears as often as going to bed before 1:30 am.

Waking up every morning and seeing the sun shining through the window in her bedroom illuminating her empty bed, it highlights our reality.  She's really gone.

Folding the laundry, a necessary task that needs to be done in every household, it kills me every time.  I miss her scent, her tiny socks, her cute pajamas...Every now and then Sophie will throw something of Lucy's in the laundry.  I think she thinks it will make me feel better, and maybe I won't cry when I fold the laundry.  I love how she thinks, love her.

For Drew it's something as routine as taking out the trash, we have half of the amount of garbage that we used to have when Lucy was alive.  We no longer receive a dozen or more boxes a week of medical supplies which means we have less recycling now.  Though some would see this as a good thing, to him, to us, it's just another reminder that she is no longer here, she's gone.

I have canceled all of the email offers from retailers that I formally would have purchased clothing from or special items for Lucy.  I have also canceled or throw away any catalogs from children's or special needs retailers.  To me, they are "in your face" reminders of what I am missing.  Buying for three and not four, it's awful!

All of us continue to tip-toe around our house as if our Sleeping Beauty is sleeping in the next room!  Sometimes it makes us laugh that we do this, and sometimes it makes us cry, it just depends on our moods.  My instinct is to "ssshh" everyone when they walk in the door from school, you know what they say about old habits.

There is but a wall that separates our shower from Lucy's bedroom. You would be even more impressed with us if you knew what it took for us to take a shower everyday when Lucy was alive.  She was the world's lightest sleeper, she would almost always hear the shower turn on if you got in it after 6 am.  If Luc woke up before she was ready...ahh let's just say that was disaster of epic proportions for a kiddo with an energy deficient disease.  Now we can take a shower whenever we want or need to, this is something that we just can't or don't want to get used to, not sure which.

The smell of just about every hand soap and hand sanitizer, or "hanatizer" as Lucy called it, reminds us of her!  I don't think I will be able to set foot in a Bath and Body Works store ever again.  Did you know that the sense of smell is the most powerful memory trigger?  It's because the olfactory nerve is located near the area of the brain that registers emotion and memory.  I can attest to this, I can barely stand on my two feet whenever I smell something that reminds me of her.

We would buckle and unbuckle Lucy's wheelchair into our van as fast as a Nascar pit crew changes tires on a race car,  we no longer have to do that now.  Her chair has been buckled in our van since the day of her funeral, when it's not in there I can't drive my car, it's just too painful to see the empty space.  We have no plans right now to do anything with any of Lucy's things, they are where they have always been in our house.  Her things bring us comfort, the thought of having to do anything with them hurts too much.  However, our van is something that we are in need of selling, we no longer need it, and I am having a terrible time driving it, even with her empty wheelchair buckled in the back.

Watching my husband and children grieve, try and figure out how to live life without Lucy, this is perhaps the most difficult thing to witness.  No matter how much we focus on the positive, the benefits of having a kiddo like Lucy, how our faith plays a huge role in how we handle living life, none of it takes away the pain of loosing Lucy.  Grief will forever be interwoven into the fabric of our being, it is part of our testimony, our kids testimony.  

Mother's day, this year feels cruel.  When asked the inevitable question, "how many children do you have?"  I will always answer four!  If you are so bold to ask me their ages, well you might just need a tissue to handle the answer.

Everyday in honor of Lucy we get up and do the impossible...attempt to live life without her.

Mother's Day 2013

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Kelly said...

Thank you for continuing to share your story and your honesty about your grieving process. I am also about to have my first mother's day with a baby in heaven and relate to every word you write. Continued prayers for strength and peace for you and your family

Susan said...

Prayers and hugs for you and your sweet family dear friend. My heart hurts with you.

Bee said...

I just know your family from this blog and the library, but I prayed for you through the past year and continue to pray for you all after losing Lucy. I know there are no healing words that can be said, but I want you to know the whole Marlett family is our special intention tonight at Bible study. God bless.

Beth Puffenberger said...

Loving you and your family from afar, praying for you, and missing Miss Luc everyday:)

Theresa G said...

Know that I KNOW. From the shower right next to the bedroom, to the van that you just can't stand the thought of not having because it reminds you of Lucy. 10 years later, and I can feel every emotion with you.

I'll be thinking of you tomorrow...
Theresa from Maine

Theresa G said...

Know that I KNOW. From the shower next to the bedroom, to the van that has so many memories...Ten years for me, but it might as well be yesterday. So sad for you all...

I'll be thinking of you tomorrow, especially~
Theresa, a mito-mom from Maine