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… please don’t let me be too jealous. I’m travelling to Pasadena tomorrow morning to meet my nephew, Remy, for the first time, and I’m scared that I’m going to start crying when I see him, which is OK, but after that I’d like to please be cool with holding him, playing with him, changing him, and giving him back to Kimberly when it’s time for me to go. I’d like to avoid having a “let go of him, he’s mine” fight when I leave, and I know it’s my job to avoid such a thing. Please don’t let it be too hard for me.

Amen.

Mom B sent me a package in the mail today. This is an admittedly crappy picture, but you can at least see the heart; it says, “Annie Laurie, 2/12/2010″. I LOVE it! Thank you so much, Mom!

I feel like crap tonight. I’ve got a sore throat so I know I’m coming down with a cold and my back hurts something awful. Ben asked me what he could do to make me feel better; “Nothing,” I answered. Then, I thought about it a little bit more, and I chipped in, “You could rub my back and bring me back our daughter.”

I’m going to sleep now.

I’m reading a fantastic book by a rabbi, Harold Kushner, called “When Bad Things Happen to Good People” that was recommended to me by a friend who’s a Methodist minister (or something like that). There’s a story from the book I’d like to share with you.

A true story: an eleven-year-old boy of my acquaintance was given a routine eye examination at school and found to be just nearsighted eough to require glasses. No one was terribly surprised at the news. His parents both wear glasses, as does his older sister. But for some reason, the boy was deeply upset at the prospect, and would not tell anyone why. Finally, one night as his mother was putting him to bed, the story came out. A week before the eye examination, the boy and two older friends were looking through a pile of trash that a neighbor had set out for a collection, and found a copy of the magazine Playboy. With a sense that they were doing something naughty, they spent several minutes looking at pictures of unclothed women. When, a few days later, the boy failed the eye test at school and was found to need glasses, he jumped to the conclusion that God had begun the process of punishing him with blindness for looking at those pictures.

I love this story. It’s funny and it teaches an important lesson: God doesn’t let bad stuff happen to people because they’ve been bad. Annie’s disease was not the result of me cussing or being mean to my sister back in sixth grade. (Sorry about that, by the way!)

Harold also talks about God having a reason for letting bad things happen. He tells a story about a woman, diagnosed with MS, whose husband told her, “God must have His reasons for doing this, and it’s not for us to question him. You have to believe that if He wants you to get better, you will get better, and if He doesn’t, there has to be some purpose to it.”

Helen didn’t want to question God or be angry at him. But her husband’s words only made her feel more abandoned and more bewildered. What kind of higher purpose would justify what she would have to face? How could this in any way be good? Much as she tried not to feel angry at God, she felt angry, hurt, and betrayed. She had been a good person; not perfect, perhaps, but honest, hard-working, helpful, as good as most people and better than many who were walking around healthy. What reasons could God possibly have for doing this to her? And on top of all of it, she felt guilty for being angry at God. She felt all alone in her fear and suffering. If God had sent her this affliction, if He, for some reason, wanted her to suffer, how could she ask Him to cure her of it?”

I love this passage because it confirms what I’ve been thinking since all of this began: God doesn’t do stuff to you for a reason. I don’t know how it works, although I AM interested to find out when I get to Heaven (or possibly chapter 2 of this book, who knows!), but I imagine there are rays of sadness raining down from the sky; sometimes, the skies are sunny, and sometimes, you’ve got three strokes and a dead baby. It’s not that God has a leaky roof and is just too lazy to fix it; it’s more that these are like gamma rays coming from the sun and NOTHING will stop them.

My pastor told me three useful things when I met with him to discuss a memorial service for Annie. First, he admitted that he doesn’t know why Annie had to die, but it wasn’t because she was evil or even that she was going to read an extra book under the covers after lights-out with a flashlight when she was six. His honesty and his openness about not knowing WHY comforts me; it’s OK not to be able to rationalize what happened. Second, he told me that he’s certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that God is mouring with me, crying along side me and holding me when I need it. Third, he told me a story about a parishioner named Mary. Mary had two grown daughters that she lost within the space of a year, both to freak accidents. “Why me?” she asked him. “Why did both my daughters have to die?” He told her the same thing he told me: he had no idea. Then, he recounted another conversation he’d had with Mary.

“If you were given the power to go back in time and be 25 again, would you?”

Mary didn’t even have to think before she responded. “Oh, no! I prefer being 78, thank you very much. I’ve gained so much wisdom in the intervening years … no, I wouldn’t go back to being 25.” My pastor said that these “bad things” that happen truly suck, but they give you wisdom. There’s no other way to accumulate it. You can then go on and help other people with that wisdom. It still sucks, and you wouldn’t wish it on anybody, but you can make the most of it by cherishing what you’ve learned.

That’s the end of today’s thoughts. Perhaps I’ll have some more tomorrow …

Howdy there, folks. Just wanted to let you know how we’re doing: OK. Currently, I cry every morning and Ben gives me a big hug, and then I’m OK throughout the day — with a couple exceptions: (1) when I’m really tired, as I am today, (2) when I listen to either ‘Annie Laurie’, the Scottish folk song, or ‘Hallelujah’ by K. D. Lang, which I started singing as a lullabye BEFORE she did it at the Opening Ceremonies on Annie’s birthday, (3) when something reminds me of her, like the song “Sweetest Love” by Athenaeum, (4) looking at Annie’s scrapbook, or (5) hearing people talk about all the cool things they’re going to do with their kids.

I’m tired today; I stayed up ’till 2am watching ‘Role Models’ with a bunch of my college friends at our cabin in Breckenridge, CO. (It’s kinda dumb.) Now that I’m not pregnant anymore, I don’t fall asleep like I used to; last night, it took me until 4:45am to conk out. We woke up at 8:45am, and four hours is definitely NOT enough for me. I cried in the bathroom; I cried to Annie’s playlist in the car on the way home; I cried to other songs we listened to in the car; I think this is just one of those days when I’m going to be sad.

The song “Annie Laurie” is our daughter’s namesake, and my mom’s name is Laurie, so it’s a double win. I had no idea what the song sounded like until I downloaded it; the lyrics are surprisingly fitting.

Her brow is like the snowdrift
Her throat is like the swan
Her face it is the fairest
That e’er the sun shone on.
And dark blue is her e’e
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I’d lay me doon and dee.

I don’t know where I learned the song ‘Hallelujah’, but I started singing it about three weeks before Annie’s birthday. Then I downloaded it from iTunes, and was surprised to learn that K.D. Lang has a very nice, low voice — which mine is kind of like, minus the “nice” part. I often sang along to the recording. Then, I listened to K.D. Lang perform the song at the opening ceremonies of the Olympics in Vancouver on Annie’s birthday. That’s when I decided that it was her song. I looked up the lyrics, and it seemed that nobody really knew what they meant — but some interpretations weren’t exactly kosher. However, I found an interpretation that I like very much:

Hallelujah is a Hebrew word which means “Glory to the Lord.” The song explains that many kinds of Hallelujahs do exist. I say : “All the perfect and broken Hallelujahs have an equal value.” It’s, as I say, a desire to affirm my faith in life, not in some formal religious way but with enthusiasm, with emotion … It’s a rather joyous song. I like very much the last verse. I remember singin’ it to Bob Dylan after his last concert in Paris. The morning after, I was having coffee with him and we traded lyrics. Dylan especially liked this last verse, “And even though it all went wrong, I stand before the Lord of song with nothing on my lips but Hallelujah.”

So now I’ve got two songs on my “Annie Laurie” playlist on iTunes. I listen to it way too much; it drives Ben nuts. After one time through, he says, “Can we PLEASE listen to something else?” Sometimes I put on other music and sometimes I put on my headphones. I don’t get tired of Annie’s songs.

Sometimes, songs remind me of Annie. I was listening to my Athenaeum album driving home from Breckenridge today when the song “Sweeter Love” came on. The words go like this:

There’s no sweeter love
There’s no sweeter love
There’s no sweeter love than mine
There’s no sweeter love
So what are you thinking of?
There’s no sweeter love than mine
And if you disagree
Set me free
If you disagree
Set me free

I started crying because I think they got the words wrong. The song’s about a guy who claims “there’s no sweeter love than mine” to his girlfriend. “If you disagree” with me, he says, dump me. I love Ben very, very much, but the love I felt for Annie was the strongest, most innocent love I could imagine. There is NOTHING I wouldn’t have done to make her okay. There is NOTHING that could have made her prettier. I always thought that people just made up all that crap about a mother’s love for her child, but no, it’s true. Thank you, Annie, for showing me the power of that love. I’m sorry that I couldn’t make your chromosomes go back to normal; I feel like I gave you nothing in return. Please forgive me.

Another thing that makes me cry is looking at the ultrasounds and photos we have of Annie in her scrapbook. Every time I look at her feet I burst out in tears! (She had very nice feet, and straight toes.) I try not to look at this too often; I don’t want it to become boring, and I don’t want to seem morbid by staring at pictures of my dead daughter all the time. But the thing is, she was beautiful to me, and although looking at her picture makes me cry, it also makes me feel good.

The last thing that sets off the tears is hearing friends talk about all the things they’re going to do with *their* kids. I feel like I’m going to regret saying this because now you won’t talk about it; that’s not the kind of response I’m trying to invoke. Crying isn’t always bad; just realize that when you talk about taking your kid sledding at next year’s ski trip, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’ll disappear for 10 minutes down to my bedroom and soak Ben’s shoulder, and then I’ll be OK.

Is it normal to cry for, like, 2 minutes and then to be FINE? That’s what I do, and it feels … sorta weird. =( Like I need to lengthen the duration of the waterfall to make my grief acceptable to the rest of the world.

Also, I would like to say that it’s fine to talk about Annie. That doesn’t usually make me cry; it actually makes me smile. While it may seem awkward to bring it up, I assure you that it won’t be difficult in the long run. It’s actually much trickier to answer the question, “So what you have been up to this past year?” with “Well, I was pregnant for the last five months,” and then explain why I’m not pregnant NOW. If you’d like to share something, please just go ahead and say, “I heard about your daughter,” or “I’m so sorry about your pregnancy.” I promise I won’t make you feel uncomfortable. People on Facebook have been fantastic; they’ve posted prayers and good thoughts and messaged me, and I thank you ever so much for your vocal expressions of sympathy.

Today is the tenth anniversary of the day Ben and I started dating, and I wrote this in its honor. I love you, Ben! (And this isn’t meant for you to read until tomorrow, so if you’re on here, get lost!)

“Heya, KJ. Come find me when you get a break in your problem set, OK?
I’ve got something important I need to ask you.” I promised Ben I
would and headed down the hallway to find Auna, Matt, and the rest of
the Phys 12 gang already started on our homework. As usual, they
hadn’t made any progress; it was looking like a LONG night. I tried
to concentrate on the physics, but my mind kept wandering back to Ben.
What did he need to ask me?

Somewhere in Colorado, August 2000. (Don’t mind our expressions; it was a tad windy.)

“So how’re things with Tony?” Matt asked, knocking me out of my reverie.

“Uh … we broke up, so not so good.”

Banff, Canada, August 2001.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Matt said, not sounding too sorry at all.
“What is it with Tech women and long distance relationships? They
never seem to work out. I wonder –”

“Excuse me, but I need to go to the bathroom,” I said, cutting Matt
off. I didn’t need to hear his theory of Caltech relationships.
“I’ll be right back.”

Having an absolute BLAST at a Scott Family Get-Together, probably December 2002.

When I exited the unisex lavatory at the end of the hall, I found Ben
talking to Auna. “Come find me; I need to ask you something, OK?” I
was crushed. I’d vainly hoped that he needed to ask me about
something personal, like a date. But Auna was the most gorgeous girl
at Caltech, and I knew that if Ben were to choose between me and Auna,
I’d lose in a heartbeat. I walked dejectedly back into the Phys 12
work session.

Half an hour later, I decided that I might as well just go talk to
Ben, because I sure as heck wasn’t getting any work done here. I
excused myself from the group and made my way down to Ben’s room.

A hike in the San Gabriels, June 2003.

“Hey, Ben … you said to stop by so you could ask me something?”

“Come on in!” he answered jovially. “How’s Phys 12 going?”

“Abominablly,” I admitted. “I haven’t even gotten the first problem
yet.”

He looked at me sorrowfully at me, then rather nervously. “So
… wine and candlelight is next month, and I was wondering if you’d
like to attend with me?” Wine and candlelight is Fleming House’s
winter-term formal event. I’d heard that the soc team would buy you
any kind of drink that you asked for in advance. It sounded like fun,
and there was nobody I’d rather go with.

I’m gradumacated! June 2003.

“Uh … sure! But what about Auna?” I was too curious. Was he
lining us up so that if one of us declined he’d have a chance with the
other?

“What about her?” Ben asked innocently.

“I overheard you tell her to stop by so you could ask her a question,
too.”

“Oh, that,” he chuckled. “I didn’t want her to feel left out. I have
nothing to ask her. I should probably come up with something.”

I left Ben’s room beaming. I finished my Phys 12 problem set at
7:30 that morning, still high on Ben’s attention and not at all mad at
the professor for taking so much of my time with so worthless a set.
I would be Ben’s date!

******************************

Friday night, I was working diligently on my computer science homework
when a walkie talkie suddenly landed at my doorstep. I mean “landed”
literally; somebody had tossed it there. I stood up from my computer
and picked up the mysterious gift.

“Hello?”

“This is the work police. You’re under investigation for studying too
hard; it’s Friday night, for heaven’s sake!”

“But I don’t get CS,” I whined. “If I don’t work on it now, I’ll
never understand it!”

“I’ll help you with your homework on Sunday,” the stranger said, and I
instantly knew it was Ben. He was a CS1 TA, and he’d helped me
before. I took a gamble I knew I’d win.

“Would you like to watch a movie or something?”

Two hours later we were halfway through “The Shawshank Redemption”.
We were in Ben’s room, watching it on his computer while snuggled
under the covers of his bed.

“Let’s finish the movie tomorrow night,” I suggested. Ben quickly
acquiesed. I ejected the disk, which allowed me to weasel my way out
from under the covers so that on my way back in I could play footsie.
After five minutes of that, Ben began to speak.

“What are we?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Are we boyfriend and girlfriend, or just friends? Either one is fine
with me, but I’d like to know.”

“You can call me your girlfriend.” I smiled at him. To my relief, he
smiled back.

“So today’s our anniversary, then. February 4, 2000.”

“Why do you care?” I asked, shocked out of my skin that my boyfriend
would care about something so trivial as a calendar date. I cared,
but I wasn’t expecting him to!

“It’s just nice to know.”

We stared into each other’s eyes for a while, taking in each other’s
pupils, which had grown large with love. Finally, after an
interminable pause, I gathered my courage, leaned in, and kissed him.
To my surprise, he kissed me back.

******************************

Two weeks later, we were in his room again. It was 10:30 Friday
night. I turned to him and said, “I know you said that some people
don’t say this until they’re married, so please don’t feel you have to
say it back, but I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It’s true to this day. I love this boy, this man, more than my own
life. He combs our dogs with nary a peep from them; takes me to the
hospital when I’m pooing blood; cooks Thanksgiving dinner sans
complaints and sans help from his exhausted, pregnant wife; drives me
to Denver to go to the OB; and sits and waits with me, virtually,
(he’s in San Fransisco) for the results of our amniocentesis. The
only thing that’s changed isn’t the fact that I’ve had two strokes or
he’s shaved his head (he was losing that battle long before we started
dating), it’s the strength of our love.

To quote the Beatles, “I love you more today than yesterday, but not as much as tomorrow.” May we
have a lifetime of tomorrows to celebrate our love!