Goodbye you silly lies.

I've had a melody stuck in my head this morning.

"Goodbye you silly lies,
Hello to the truth."

I don't know what put it there, but I think I'm beginning to understand why it's there.

The past months have been filled with so many lies I can't begin to count them.

It's time to focus on the truths that I know.

I would have done anything to save Gabe.
My marriage is going to survive all of the things it has been through recently (and is going through now).
There are people who genuinely care for our family.
God did not turn his head the other way while Gabe died.
We are loved by our heavenly father.
Gabe's blood still pumps in my veins, even though his spirit is no longer here.
Love is certainly not lost.


Five months ago, I had you in my arms. Just before Judah's birthday, I had you in my arms.

And cherry blossoms were all over the city then.

I was all over the city then.

You were in your stroller, or in my wrap.

You went with me to the doctor to take out Daddy's fake tumor.

I wish I could have breathed you in deeply enough that I could still feel you, whenever I wanted to.

Boston was so beautiful, not because it was just so beautiful (which it was) but because you were there with me.

Now you are in the blossoms, everywhere. You are in the air, because every breath I breathe tastes the bitterness that your sweetness left behind when it left for now.

For now.

I am not without faith, I know that you are safe in heavens arms.

But selfishly, I wish you were here in mine. Not with any of the tubes or monitors, but just here smiling once more.


I loved that you were ticklish.

Gosh, the sweetest deep laugh you had.

You are in the rain, the blossoms, sometimes just in the air when it smells a little sweeter than usual. But you aren't here at all... they just remind me of you.

Just like hugging Susie reminds me of you somehow.

Miss you, sweet boy.


It is easier not to talk to you, lately.

Not because I don't love you, or because I don't think you love me... But because I don't understand.

I am not mad at you. I am sure that there is a reason why the world spins this way and not that way. I am sure that someday it will make sense... Or it won't make sense but there will be an answer as to why...

As to why sometimes miracles happen, and sometimes they don't.

Sometimes you watch a flower wilt before your eyes, and sometimes you watch it bloom and thrive.

As to why a bud of a rose would wilt so quickly before it's time, when it would have grown to be the most beautiful flower of all.

It stings because I wanted to glorify you for Gabe's long years, but instead I only can say thank you for the months we had.

I wanted so badly to be the one who got to boast about my son living when he should have died for a whole, long life.

But I want to boast about his short life too...

I just miss him so.

I know you have him, I watched him leave... But last night I felt you lay him next to me, in-between Judah and I and Daddy, in the spot he should be laying. I lay there and I could almost feel him in my arms again. His mushy little body and his sweet, glowing presence.

Then I saw him looking up at me, tilting his head so far back and talking... with his big "Oooos".

His sparkly eyes see into your heart, they don't let you lie about who you are or what's inside of yourself. They saw with purity.

I will spend the rest of my life loving you, but also wondering why your miracles thwarted my tiny boy in those moments, not because I don't trust your plan or your design... but because as a mother... I don't believe my son should have died. I don't believe he would have brought harm to our home or our world, but joy and peace.

And selfishly, I want him.

But you love me inspite of myself, which is the glory of it all.

I am so flawed that I can barely speak your name... but I know the truth is that you see me in these moments and still love me despite my carnal mind's expectations of you.

I wrote the blog, thankfulness... and I hoped that by being thankful for the hospital and the hope and the bad things, and the good... that I could get my miracle. That my son would be that miracle.

I needed him, you know?

He was my baby.

Nick and I always joked about how Judah was his 'mini-me' and he loved Nick so much, that Judah was 'his baby' and that the baby I was pregnant with would be my baby. I told Nick "I just have a feeling, he will be my baby. He will love me!" and he did. He was my baby.

The day we delivered Gabe, I was so nervous. How could I let him leave the protective shell he was in and enter the world knowing how small of a chance he had at being an adult?

But I did it. I brought him into the world, and I held him, and oh my gosh... I was in love. I knew him, he knew me, we were each others friends... and we were made for each other!

I held him for fifteen seconds.

And then I stayed awake.

I had to wait until he was settled to come see him again, and I was so tired. I'd been in labor stages for weeks and weeks, and they had to force my body to deliver him by breaking my waters.... and I was so tired. Nick fell asleep, and I stayed there, blinking, awake. I wouldn't sleep until I saw him again.

It was 2:20 in the morning when I started waiting.

And 6:30 am when I finally got to go and see him.

Beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful.

Like a little angel, short hands and short legs- but perfect. There was something about him, like he was custom made for me. To fit in my arms and to hold in my heart.

Sometimes, it's not enough to have him in my heart.

I need him in my arms, you know.

My arms ache for him, my heart and my body ache to see him again.

I know I won't be able to move on without him, but I can keep pressing forward. I can keep breathing, with the hope of heaven.


Sleeping Beauty

The days have been mellow, I haven't spent a lot of time in tears.. But I wish I did sometimes. Sometimes it's worse to not cry.

Today I read a post about someone going home, and my mind still goes to jealousy, the jealousy I felt every time someone went home and you didn't. But now, after that 'mild' jealousy happens- a sinking feeling is there. You aren't coming home to our house.

My days of having my three boys in a room together came and went.. and then you were sleeping beauty.

You laid in that hospital bed like it was your glass case. Not breathing on your own, not eating, not moving... Not getting better and not getting worse for five months.

If I could have kissed you and made it better... But I did kiss you.

You were so beautiful and so perfect the day you went in for surgery. Not like the last surgery where you were so sick and intubated... I was so certain we would have you back, grinning and spinning in circles.

I was so sure you would be in my arms right now.

I hate how final it feels, even though I believe you are in heaven and I will see you again...

Right now, the hope here is gone. There is no hope that I will take you home. There is no hope that you will wake up from your glass case and go on with us.

So now my husband is facing the reality of losing his Mom, and I feel like I can't handle it. How strange, that I think that I can't handle something that isn't really my burden to handle.

Life is so unfair sometimes.

I want miracles to happen, but the day we let you go, I waited for the miracle, the whole day.

And I will never stop waiting for it.



It feels like your heart went through a meat grinder. Beating, but every beat reminding you of something sharp and real, raw and painful. But it doesn't feel like that all the time, so that's the good news. Right now, it feels like that.

Not just because of the hole left by Gabe, but because of what was ignored the past year and the things that became small potatoes.

Medically complex lifestyles are lifestyles spent where EVERYTHING becomes small potatoes. Jobs, relationships, life.

I felt that anytime I had a conversation in the past year, a real conversation... it was a luxury. Having emails from a friend, was a luxury.

So you can imagine from there the remains of other things were not so unscathed in the process.

I love antiques and victorian type fancy. I love cracked glass creating new objects (Mosaic art)....

So maybe, that's what we are doing now.

Maybe, all the pieces that have been broken- cracked, chewed up and spit out can turn into a beautiful masterpiece that I can put in a window in the house in the end.

But right now, the glass is all over the floor.

The remains must be gone through from here- picking them up might be the hard part... They are sharp, they are bitter and they are very very real.

But I am hoping that since I can't knit, I can glue them onto a window... then cement them together into something new.... beautiful.

Glass is all over the floor right now.

Now lets make something of it.

Because walking all over it in bare-feet and ignoring it would be the best way to bleed it all out- and it will bleed out if we let it.

But I want to make mosaics.


Miss you.

I hope in heaven, that you are still my baby. Still small and mushy. I hope I get to scoop you up and lay you on my chest finally... I miss that so much.

I hope you look at me with sparkly eyes again.

I miss you so incredibly much.

Can't wait till forever.



Needless to say, the last few weeks have been a vast spread of emotions, but the main one I have been hanging around is a mixture of contentedness with what is left at the end of this journey, and anger at nothing in general other than the hole in my stomach that will probably never go away.

However, I have been keeping myself busy. I have had three photoshoots in the past few days... and the  editing process has been keeping me more than busy... But it's a rewarding sort of busy.

Honestly, I keep trying so hard not to teeter over the edge of the balance that I have hold of between 'okay' and 'falling into depression', and it feels like I am swimming upstream... But I am holding steady.

I had a very vivid, wake you up in a cold sweat kind of a dream last night. I was arguing with my Mom while driving, and suddenly we realized that I had hit something, someone was screaming. I got out and somehow it was Judah (even though he wasn't with us)... and his arm was severed while I screamed "Call 9-1-1!" over and over. I woke up with panic, and it was so real to my mind, I couldn't shake it for a while. Judah was in our bed, so he was laying next to me at the time... but I honestly felt such a deep despair that I still couldn't shake it for a while.

So other than that, we are staying afloat.

Afloat, whatever that means.

I have been having more trouble than I imagined with social gatherings, especially church- and I'm afraid to go back. I almost thought "maybe I will just go to a new church where no one knows me or Gabe or anything about this..." But that's not the reality of why I am having a hard time.

It would be just as hard to start somewhere new where no one knew.

Then I dreamt the other day that I was screaming at strangers "My baby died! He DIED!" Wishing for a reaction that would make me finally breathe out, you know... When you tell someone something deep and dark and they have the reaction like "WOW... My life is forever changed and I totally understand where you are coming from."

What a strange dream, but I suppose it had something do do with the intense loneliness that is related to losing your child/infant/spouse, whomever you lose, I'm sure it's still there.

Anyway, I suppose my point is, I will just have to move forward with the gutwrenching heartattack feeling I get every time I see someone who knows, or who doesn't know... Or who I wish I could talk to about it, but I can't because they could never, ever understand. Or the people who do understand who I wish didn't.

The turmoil lives within itself, I suppose. There's no 'good' way to feel about all of this, I'm afraid.

But I suppose I'm glad I feel something.

Whatever it is.

So I'm still moving forward.

We are heading to the coast for a couple days, and I am looking forward to that, at least... To a time away... But then I realized today you can't truly escape it... You can make yourself busy, so busy that you forget, for a moment, the intense loss... But you can't forget.

And from what I understand, it doesn't get easier. You just learn to be busy, always. Always busy, so you don't think for a moment how intensely you miss... Oh gosh here come the tears.


Re-defining our world

The past year (well, longer than that really) has revolved around two boys in our lives, Judah and Gabe.

Now, down to one boy who is pretty healthy, we are faced with redefining our entire world.

No hospital planning, no staying in random houses with strangers... No figuring out where to eat and who is at the hospital while someone else is with Judah...

It leaves things very openended, because that WAS our life for the past year.

Moving along without that ordeal is something we never thought we would miss (and we don't miss a lot of aspects)... but we miss waiting for Gabe to come home.

Anyway, so we are processing where we go from here right now.

I plan on staying with Judah, because I am not the type of Mom who can stand sending her kid to daycare while working to barely cover the costs of daycare alone... I would rather spend the time with Judah personally... So that is worked out.

Judah has been missing Gabe quite a bit and asking Gabe to come down from the sky to have milk with us...

And I am starting my photography adventures. I have a photoshoot today (building my portfolio) and I want to take a few classes if time permits.

Nick is getting his CNA degree transferred from Washington to Idaho (which will take 2 weeksish) and will be searching for a CNA job while in the process of continuing school (he took this semester off since we lost Gabe at the beginning of it and concentration seemed impossible).

We plan on getting into an apartment in a few months after Nick has a job, and then we will be working on furthering his career a couple steps at a time while I work with Judah and we decide when it's time to introduce our third McAllister to the family...

I only ever planned on having three, so it's kind of weird to have another 'second' child.

Anyway, overall, we are doing pretty badly with the grieving, but still moving along somehow.

We are done with funeral things for the most part... so that's nice.

I never knew how much you could miss someone you only knew for 7 months... but Gabe is missed sorely.

I got my tattoo for Gabe, which was cool, but it's infected. My other tattoo (hummingbird on my back) is fine, thank goodness... But it was really disappointing to have it get infected... and that will mean that it will need a lot of touch up.



Other than that, nothing really happening. Just preparing for 'settling down'.

We are basically starting over... with Judah.

And there is a very empty spot in our car... Like our little 'Life' car with the little red and blue dots. We are missing one of our dots quite a bit.



I saw Gabe nearly die so many times that it still doesn't feel real that he is gone.

Unpacking some boxes that arrived from Boston today, I found more of this things, little pants and shirts and stuffed animals... And I still feel like putting it in his drawer.. He still has a drawer.

I found the drawing I did of Gabe in the coffee shop in Boston... and I remember that day I thought we were going to lose him, but we didn't. But I needed him there, so I drew him there.

"He is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen and it's not about his face, but the life force I can see in him. It's the smile and the pure promise of everything he has to offer. Like he's saying, 'Here I am world, are you ready for so much passion and beauty and goodness and love and every other word that should be in the dictionary under the word life?' Except this boy is dead, and the unnaturalness of it makes me want to pull my hair out with Tate and Narnie and Fitz and Jude's grief all combined. It makes me want to yell at the God that I wish I didn't believe in. For hogging him all to himself. I want to say, 'You greedy God. Give him back. I needed him here."

It is a quote I found yesterday... But it felt so true. Of course, I don't think God is greedy, nor do I blame him for our loss of Gabe... But I do believe that he is the God of miracles, and I wish we could have kept our miracle just a little longer, to be quite honest.

But the miracle was what happened when we were 8 week pregnant and told that there was no hope for our little 'dot' of a baby to grow. And then at birth when they said his heart couldn't squeeze well enough to live through even one surgery.

So we were given a miracle, time and time again.

It must be selfish of me to wish so badly to have that miracle longer, when we weren't suppose to meet Gabe at all.

There is something in me that still wants to fight, fists out, for Gabe. To prove he was worth it, to prove to someone, EVERYONE how precious his life was and how much value he had. But it doesn't really matter what anyone thinks, because we know.

We know by the emptiness where his presence used to be, by the hopes that are gone, the dreams of what he would be like that we will never see until heaven.

Gabe was unlike any infant I have ever known.

Gabe was more than any odds could define. He was beautiful, the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. His eyes were so unique, so deep and so willfully drawing you in... it was almost unnatural how beautiful he was sometimes.

He was sweet, but so determined and so gentle, but so strong.

Sweetly he would play with his toys, determined he would roll up on his side and spin himself in circles while chewing on his thumbs.

He defined love for us, rawly.

Raw love. Like when you stop processing what love is SUPPOSED to look like and how it's SUPPOSED to feel.

Love is fighting.

Nick and I are having some struggles with Gabe's last moments.

I am, anyway.

I almost wish we would have waited to lose him on his own time, rather than to make the decision to not let him suffer slowly... But it felt so much like I let him...

Like it was really because I gave up on a miracle. Because we gave up the fight and the hope and the miracles.

And I know we will have to come to terms with it somehow, work through it..

But we always believed in miracles. I believed in miracles.

The what-ifs pile around me lately like stacks of paper that I'm afraid will surround me and steal the good moments we had away with the fears of what happened.

Maybe it's normal, to grieve. I know that people who leave their loved ones on life support in comas for a lifetime are too afraid that they might wake up after they give up... and maybe that's what I am going through.

I wish his body could have woken up and fought off the infection.

But even though we 'knew' he was dying.

It still feels like hell to have been the one holding him, and letting him go. Giving up.

It was giving up.

Prayers needed over here.


One Thousand Gifts

1. The gallop of hearts on monitors
2. Laughter for no reason at all
3. Joy where sorrow should be.
4. Hope
5. Teary eyes of love and compassion
6. Memories that burn
7. The smell of hand sanitizer
8. The color green in contrast with his blonde hair
9. Perfect toes in a row
10. The hole in my stomach that tells me it isn't a dream
11. Paused time
12. Miracle after miracle that should never have been
13. Brothers... love.
14. Friends who send notes
15. Unexpected flowers
16. Tears that flow freely.
17. Babies breath flowers.
18. The ocean...
19. Memories I can feel on my fingertips.
20. Pain's reminder of a deep love.
21. An easy birth, a pink baby.
22. Strangers who look like friends.
23. Recognition of your baby in others.
24. Breastfeeding, for just a moment.
25. Whipped cream tastes
26. Airplane strangers who want to talk.
27. Big, deep, meaningful hugs.
28. The smell of a spouse.



We had Gabe's memorial today.

I think for the most part, it went well. I don't think I was prepared to see his casket, or how tiny it was... or feel the feelings I felt.

But I knew it would be bad when I woke up this morning with the same feelings that I had the day we knew we were letting him go.

A hole in my stomach and my heart that feels like a spinning blade are the best words I can use.

It was so nice to have people there, supporting us and praying for us and loving us... and our son.

I know that God will continue to use Gabe's life for good things, as he always has...

But it was difficult.

I read three of my blogs and was afraid I wouldn't have the courage to do so...

But what sister Pat said to me last year was in my head the whole time.

"God has not given me a spirit of timidness."

So I tried my best to stand up and share our hearts for Gabe.

It doesn't change the hole, but I do know that I did what I wanted to do...

Shared what a huge impact he had on us.

The whole time, I was touching my heart... feeling the beat. Not to feel mine...

But because that memory, it's so real, so there. Feeling his heart beat on my fingertips. I will always have that memory. Its engraved in me.

I never knew it was possible to miss someone so much.

Gabe, I hope the messenger angel is telling you all about how loved you are. How loved you will always be, by us. The people God trusted you with for a little while.

You are irreplaceable.

Life will never be the same without you.

I will never stop missing you.

This empty spot will always be here.

But so will this memory.

I still feel your heart beating on my fingertips.

I still smell your hair.

I still feel you pulling my hair out.

I hear you talking in baby language.

I watch Judah patting you while I say 'gently'.

I remember swaddling you.. bouncing you, rocking you... Loving you.

I will never forget.

Thank you for picking us. Whether you did or God did, thank you.

I never deserved you.

I never will deserve you.

How great, beautiful, perfect, lovely you were.

How strong, smart, gentle, giant, wonderful, brilliant you were.

It still feels like a dream. I still feel like I will wake up tomorrow and you will be finally coming home from the hospital. I don't know if it will ever feel real.

I miss you... So so so much.

I love you forever.

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