Another July 17th down…


I meant to post on the 17th, to make a note of the day that my daughter both came into this world too soon, and left it too soon. I wanted to comment on how short her little life was and how much of an impact she made on my life and on the lives of her daddy, my mother, and our friends, family, and loved ones. But we spent the day down at Silver Springs.
We rode glass bottom boats, and saw wild monkeys in the trees with their babies as they collected berries. We went on a crazy jungle jeep tour and fed the animals in the petting zoo. We quietly thought of the day my life changed nine years ago, and celebrated Angelina. All in all, it was a great day, and I’m happy to have spent the anniversary of Angie’s life and death that way this year. On the way home, my husband and I quietly reflected on our memories of that week I spent in the hospital and the images that have never left us. We both commented on the smell in the hospital that makes us shutter to this day.
Yesterday, I was exhausted from the walking and the heat of the day before, so I ended up pretty much laying around in my pajamas for the day. But I felt good that I had enough in me again to go on a family outing like we had. Between the shots in my neck recently and the new meds, I am finding that I am finally feeling well enough to be doing a little more living again these days. And that rocks. It feeds my soul and gives me hope again. I have actually started thinking about the things I can do again, like working in my yard once we get settled in Maryland and going places again without worrying so much that I will have a pain spike in the middle of the day. 
I think for those of us in the Fibro community that can find a spot, a traumatic incident, that kicked off our Fibro, facing the anniversary of it every year presents a challenge of sorts. It doesn’t matter if it was personal medical crisis like mine or a car accident like Ging’s, that day comes at us every year and we have to stare it down. We are grateful for what we have past that day, we mourn what we lost that day, we look forward and think of laying the trauma to rest in the past.
Here’s to nine years since my Angelina was born. She was beautiful, tiny, and perfect. She had a raspberry birth mark on her forehead and the most perfect little lips and ears. I hope she’s dancing in heaven.

Thoughts? Comments? Talk to me!

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