little miss funeral

Today I’m emotional for no apparent reason. I say for no apparent reason because today was a great day. I was off from work. I spent the entire day with my daughter. We even managed to go to lunch at the cutest restaurant with my dad. Today was a great day.

But tonight, I am emotional. My husband is gone, at a work event that’s running late into the night. And now, my daughter silently sleeps next to me in our bed as I watch reruns of Cheers on Netflix. I look over at her, perfectly sleeping and I begin to cry. Probably because just a few minutes before I read an article on childhood cancer. I think I’m actually crying for the children and babies who are not healthy, and for how unfair life is. I cry and plead to God to always keep my baby girl healthy, and to please create a miracle to cure all of the dying children in our world. And then I think to myself, how is it 2019 and we do not have a cure for cancer? And then I think what the hell was I thinking having a child of my own? In what universe did I ever think that it would be a good idea to allow my heart to walk around and beat OUTSIDE of my body? What was I thinking, to give this world my heart for its taking? I look at her sleeping, and I cry thinking of all of the babies I’ve buried. I cry for the parents. I cry because I wonder if I’d think the way I do if I didn’t work in a funeral home. I cry, and then I look at my baby girl, and she smiles in her sleep. And she is perfect. And when she smiles, I see God. I really and truly see Him. And I think, if I love this little baby so much that it hurts this much, then how much does God love me? And I thank God, that He has given us the opportunity for eternal life – the opportunity to be surrounded by love forever.

 

But this world still sucks. And babies still die. And things still don’t make sense. I pray that my baby is always healthy, because if she is then she has everything. And I pray that your babies are always healthy, too. I think I’m writing this as my prayer. Because I’m overly emotional tonight, and I need God to hear me.

In the event that you haven’t seen my most recent YouTube video, I am so happy to share with all of you that my husband and I haven recently welcomed a daughter into the world!

When I found out I was pregnant, I was so unbelievable excited, but so scared at the same time. I was excited, because my husband and I had been trying to start a family. I was scared, because I had buried so many babies throughout my career as a funeral director. From the start, I was very negative and felt like something would go wrong at any moment. I know the reason I did this was because I felt that if I expected the worse, and if it happened, it would make it easier for me to cope. I was super lucky to overall have a very easy pregnancy and the most supportive husband. We did have a few odd things that our doctor wanted to keep an eye on during our pregnancy. I’d come home from appointments crying, convinced that something was wrong. During these times, my husbands faith and support never wavered. He brought the happiness and light into these past nine months. Anytime something bothers me, I write about it. Below, I have a little bit of a diary from these past months of me growing a little human inside of me.

 

A Little Background:

We found out we were pregnant very early on in the pregnancy, on December 14, 2017, I was five weeks pregnant. I always said that when I did get pregnant, I never wanted to find out what sex the baby was. My husband was very supportive with this decision. After we found out we were expecting, we waited for my first doctors appointment at eight weeks to tell our parents and siblings. We then waited till I was twelve weeks until we told our friends and employers. Josiah and I decided to keep everything offline. In our eyes, the people in our lives who knew about the baby were the people that we loved and saw. By keeping it offline, we felt like we were able to keep this personal time more intimate between the two of us.

January 4th.

I found out about you on the first anniversary of Eddie’s death. That makes me smile. Like you were a gift of light during an otherwise dark day. The sun hadn’t even come up yet. I ran into the bedroom where your dad was sleeping and woke him up. He was so happy, we both were. And then, all of a sudden I was afraid. Afraid of everything that could go wrong. I thought of all of the women with pain in their hearts and wondered what made me so special? Was why I blessed with you?

March 17th.

Most of our family knows about you. The minute you turned twelve weeks old in my stomach was when your father was begging to tell everyone. He’s so excited for you. So am I, but it still doesn’t feel real. I’ve heard your heartbeat three times and each time I still wonder if this is all a dream. I keep telling myself that I’ll tell more people after the next appointment. The next heartbeat. The next ultrasound. Because what if I tell people and then at the next doctors appointment they can’t find your little heartbeat? What if I lose everything in an instant?

My close friends tell me that I’m being crazy. That I can’t let such a beautiful time be run by fear. But fear is what I have in my heart. I want to hold you so bad, that I don’t believe you’re actually mine until you’re here, in my arms. Your dad asked if I’ve felt you moving and I told him I have not. Maybe that’s another reason why I feel like this isn’t real. How can it not be real, when in two weeks this pregnancy will be halfway over, if it goes the full term. I know that you’re there. I know, that you’re a real person, with your own heart and your own body. The baby book next to my bed tells me that you weigh the same amount as three large eggs. I put three large eggs into my hand to try to comprehend that this is my life. My life created your life and I’m terrified. I love you so much that it physically hurts. I keep preparing myself for the worst because I can’t understand why I get to have this blessing in my life. Why do I get to experience this joy and this love? Why can’t I stop being so afraid of it?

April 9th.

Twenty-one weeks. That means, that I am halfway through my pregnancy. That means, that in just nineteen weeks, I’ll be holding you in my arms. People outside of our immediate family and friends are starting to know about you. Families I’ve served at the funeral home have reached out for my stomach and asked me when I’m due. I love this and hate it at the same time. There was something so precious about keeping you my little secret, and now the world can know about your existence by a quick glance at my stomach. I’m feeling safer in the sense that you’ll be here soon, but in the same breath I scold myself for letting my guard down. Nothing is guaranteed, not even holding you in my arms. But goodness, it’s all starting to feel so real, especially since I’ve started to feel you. You’re not just a dream, you are a person with your own little heartbeat and your own little movements. But you’re still so tiny and fragile. My mind races to everything that can go wrong, and in one moment I think I’m starting to understand what it feels like to be a mother. If I worry over everything that can go wrong while you’re in the safest home you’ll ever be in, what am I going to do once my body can’t protect you anymore? And how badly I want to hold you in my arms.

April 20th.

Two days ago we had an ultrasound. Your dad always gets super excited for these, and in one way, I do as well because we get to see how you’re growing. But I also get anxiety thinking about these appointments. I keep thinking that they’ll tell me something is wrong.

This was a follow-up appointment to my eighteen week scan. This would have been the time we could have found out if you’re a little boy or a little girl, but your dad and I decided to be surprised. At the first scan, they couldn’t see part of your heart and spine, so four weeks later they told us to come back, when you’d be a little bigger. Everything started out fine. They were able to see your little heart no problem. After a while, the technician asked me to turn onto my side because they still couldn’t see your spine. They had me move different ways but you still wouldn’t move positions, and so once again they told me to make an appointment for a follow up.

I didn’t think anything of this, but still asked the technician if anything was wrong. She said that they just couldn’t see your full spine, and had to get a good view in order to make certain you didn’t have Spina Bifida. My mind immediately started to race. She never said she was concerned that you had Spina Bifida, just that they wanted to rule it out by getting a clear image. For so long I’ve prayed that you’d come into our lives that I never once thought of what would happen if you weren’t 100% healthy. As I walked out to make another ultrasound appointment, the receptionist responded with, “They STILL couldn’t see everything?!” That’s not what a nervous mama to be wants to hear.

For two days I’ve been googling everything I can about this scan and babies not moving to view everything. For two days I’ve been freaking out in case something is wrong. You’re dad doesn’t understand this, and I have no logic. I just still can’t believe that I’m pregnant. That you have a little heartbeat, and that we’ve seen your face in these photos. I love you so much it hurts and I’m slowly realizing that I’m going to be worrying for the rest of my life. And that’s okay, as long as you’re here. I just want you here so badly.

May 5th.

More than halfway there. That’s what I keep telling myself. Except, yesterday we got a death call at the funeral home. For a little baby. The mama was one week behind me.

Enter every single bad thought that has ever come into my mind this pregnancy.

Her situation, her heartache, that could be me and you. And I keep telling myself not to think like that, but I can’t help it. Maybe it’s my hormones, but I feel so out of control and I hate it. Why do I get to be pregnant? Why do I get to carry this gift? I keep saying it over and over. I am so not worthy of this miracle, but I am forever grateful.

With each passing day I get more hopeful to meet you. With each family who walks through the funeral home door and asks me when I’m due, I smile a little bit bigger. It seems like it’s so real, I feel you moving inside of me, but in the same breath I’m afraid that I’m just living in this dream. I only have 15 weeks to go till I hold you in my arms. That doesn’t seem long at all, but waiting for you is like being a little kid waiting for Santa to come on Christmas Eve. It’s taking for-ev-er. I love you little baby. Please, keep growing, keep kicking, and stay healthy. I can’t wait to meet you on the outside.

July 12th.

Has it really been over two months since I’ve last updated these thoughts of mine? I can hardly believe it. We are so close to holding you in our arms. These days I’m feeling less afraid because I feel you constantly. In the beginning, I never thought you were an active baby, but as more time goes on, I feel you move more and more. These days, especially, those little movements tend to feel more like punches on the inside of me. At the crematory the other day, as I was signing paperwork, I let out an “OH!” as I bent over and I’m pretty certain the crematory operator thought I might have been going into labor.

Like this entire pregnancy, I’m still trying not to be too excited, although the closer I get to your due date, the more I can hardly wait! I know I should be letting myself feel all the excitement that comes along with pregnancy, and I do to an extent. It’s just that I’ve been working for so long in a funeral home and have buried so many babies, that I know anything can happen. Still, in my heart, I know that I’ll be holding you soon and I just can’t wait! I’m so excited to find out if a baby boy or baby girl has been growing inside of me for all these weeks. I’m excited to see if you look like your daddy. I’m excited to be able to hold you and kiss you and tell you I love you. We are so ready for you little baby.

August 15th.

Five days from our due date. Today I went to the doctors. I’ve been going a lot now that we’re in the final stretch. All tests done point to one healthy baby, and for that I am forever grateful. The only thing is, my doctor told me that you don’t seem to be in any sort of rush to get here! It’s so funny, because I feel as if I’ve had you inside of me forever, but now that I’m nearing the end of this journey it seems to be taking forever. I am blessed. You are here with me. The doctor says you are healthy. I’ve been able to carry you full term. Now I know that I’m asking a lot, but please little baby, if you could hurry up and be born happy and healthy, mama and daddy would love to meet you. This has been an emotional and long road, but I am so ready to see who you are. I am so ready to be able to love you on the outside.

August 21st.

Today is one day past your due date, little one. It’s so funny, because for so long I have prayed that we would make it to this point, and now that we are here I do not know what to do. This is a waiting game, and I’m not used to waiting. I’m used to being active, and constantly doing something, whether it’s working, or writing, or whatnot. And now, I’m sitting on my bed, with your furry big brother, just wondering when you’re going to make your appearance. In one sense, these have been the longest nine months of my life. But in another breath, I can’t believe how quickly this time has gone by. I keep praying that you arrive happy and healthy. If I am blessed with a happy and healthy baby I have everything. I know that labor will be difficult, and I know we’re not out of the woods just yet, but mama wants to hold you so bad! Please come quickly, my little happy and healthy baby!

August 29th.

I’m sitting in my living room, with your furry big brother sleeping on my legs and your father sleeping next to me on the sofa. After months of fear, hope, and excitement, you are finally here with us.

You physically came into our lives four days past your due date on August 24, 2018. After twenty-one hours of labor, you came out crying and I heard your dad yell, “It’s a girl, it’s our Daisy!”

Labor was the hardest thing I have ever done, but I would do it all over again for you. I would do every inch of this journey again for you. I count myself as one of the lucky ones. I had so much fear and uncertainty during this entire pregnancy. I did not want to talk about it publicly for fear that it wouldn’t be real. But you’re real and your here and I want to constantly cry because I can’t believe how much I love you. I have a daughter.

 

I have been having a difficult time, lately.

And it’s been a while, since I’ve found myself slipping into this familiar territory. It’s been a very long time, since I’ve found myself this unhappy with my job. On one hand, it’s kind of funny that I’m feeling these emotions because my life is so different from where I was five years ago. But in the same breath, it makes so much sense because it’s my work environment that is causing these feelings.

Sometimes I sit down and wonder why the hell I became a funeral director. Why would I decide to dedicate my life to a career that is so heavy, unpredictable, and generally shunned  from the majority of the public? Why couldn’t I have become a school teacher, working towards enlightening the minds of the children of tomorrow? Why did I chose death? Why, as I type this now, do I feel like I never had a choice?

My life has always revolved around death. Not in a dramatic, dark way. Sure, I’ve lost my fair share of people who I love. But it’s more than that. I never felt like I had a choice in becoming a funeral director. It’s just what I was always supposed to do. Every single path that I’ve found myself on has led me to this career.

And the thing is, I love it. I really, really love it. I have this fear, that I’ve never really talked about before. That at the end of my life, as I’m looking back on what I accomplished, I’ll actually realize that I never did anything of any importance. I love being a funeral director for selfish reasons. This job gives my life purpose.

But this job also takes so much from me. It takes time away from my own family. It takes my mental health. The times when I’m working a funeral that just doesn’t make sense. A funeral that should not be happening. This job takes away my reasoning and priorities. It makes me put other people first. That may not sound so bad, except when it makes me put strangers above my own family, or my own wellbeing. It makes me nervous, that I’m going to miss a lot in the future. And what if, at the end of my life, instead of looking back and realizing I never did anything of any importance, I realize that instead, I missed out on the little moments that could have really given my life meaning?

I can’t believe that after everything I’ve been through, I’m finding myself back here. I’m grateful, that this time around I’m recognizing it. Because I realize that I’m finding myself in more unhappy moments than I would like, I can actively work towards finding happier ones. The thing is, that right now, I’m tired. At this moment, I feel as if I have so many things outside of my control and that is very overwhelming. Like always, I’m working on one day at a time. And the beautiful thing about these emotions this time around, is that I can already see the light at the end of the tunnel. No matter what, I know for certain I have happier days ahead. Because life is always changing. Somehow, all of these pieces will fall into place, even if it’s not the final picture that I envisioned.

If you would have asked me seven years ago, I would have told you that I was going to retire out of the funeral home where I was working. I would have told you that I hit gold, and I worked for the best people, in a progressive firm, going above and beyond to service families. I would have never thought that I would have had to walk away to save my career in funeral service. I know that I am meant to help others in the death care profession. I know that I am good at what I do. And I know, that at times, I need help because death can be too much for me to carry by myself. I have no idea what tomorrow brings, but I know that I’m looking forward to it.