2:05am.  Addy is laying on my chest asleep.  I should be too.  I'm in the recliner, as it seems to be the only way she sleeps, but I can't.  She's still sick.  The augmentin (antibiotic for her double ear infection) is quite the drug.  The diarrhea is wreaking havoc on her little bottom and genital area.  She's had 6+ baths since Friday evening from all the diarrhea.  I think I've done 3 or 4 loads of laundry and she's been through probably 10 outfits, maybe more.  She cries off and on (or should I say screams) and I feel helpless at times.  But, right now, she's asleep.  It's a wonderful feeling.  She's laying on my chest and I can't believe she's mine.

Anniversaries are coming and going and time just keeps going.  I knew this would happen, but the reality is much more real then your mind leads on, isn't it?

I know some of you might be worried about me, so let me first just say that this recent grieving I'm doing is healthy and normal.  I'm on Lexapro and it's done wonders for my everyday life.  I feel like I can finally get something done.  Granted, Charley didn't agree today when I hopped from project to project, but quite honestly, that's normal for me.  I have much more focus and I wonder if that's why I've sat down and started researching, reliving, and remembering what this last year has REALLY been like.  Sometimes life goes by so fast, you get caught up in it.  We had no choice.  We had to be caught up in life last year.  We had to stay on top of things and let all the small stuff go.  We've been in this chase for over a year now. 

In fact, Saturday, May 23rd, marked the day I shook like a leaf, my heartrate was something like 110 (resting heartrate), and I threw up on one nurse as the other stuck and IV in my hand.  Then, they wheeled me to a private room.  Did I ever mention that the fetal surgery for Reagan was on the standard OB floor?  The same floor where they deliver babies?  Yes, that morning, I lay on a cot and waited with my parents for Dr. Quintero to arrive and his nurses to get me into the OR for the risky surgery.  And, that morning, I laid next to women who were coming in for their planned c-sections.  They were happy and giddy and I remember laying there thinking.. "Why them?"  They shielded them from me as much as possible, but it was inevitable.  After my vitals shot up and the whole puking incident, they immediately rolled me to a private room.  It was small, practically a closet.  I'm not sure I liked the silence or not.  It gave me more time to think about what I was really going to let this doctor do.  After several doses of anxiety meds, it was over and I sat in the recovery room (same OB floor - so yes, saw a mother and father with their baby, but I also saw a woman who just underwent fetal surgery herself) and prayed for no contractions.  I knew the first 24 hours were critical and then 48 hours and then 1 week and then 2 weeks.  I was scared.  I, to this day, still have no idea how I had that kind of strength to go through that.  Granted, I'm forever grateful for my parents.  They left all the decisions up to Charley & I, but they faithfully and silently guided us where they felt our hearts were taking us. 

Wow, it's really been a year?  Soon, it'll be a year of when we discovered the shunt fell out.  Or 1 year since Dr. Wenstrom at Vanderbilt looked at me with tears in her eyes and said "I'm sorry.  After much discussion, we feel it is unethical of us to put your other daughter at risk considering the circumstances.  But, I have no doubt in my mind that you have done everything as a mother to save your daughter."  Those words have stuck... "I have no doubt in my mind that you have done everything as a mother to save your daughter."  The trip back from Vanderbilt was horrible.  I didn't want to talk and I didn't.  My mom understood, but Charley struggled.  I just wanted to sit and silence and find a way to accept Reagan's fate.  To accept that Charley & I, her parents, were not allowed to make this decision and to accept that we would have to say Hello and then Goodbye in a matter of moments. 

You never forget.  Do you?  Just when you think you are moving on and you are going to forget, it just comes back.  That is bittersweet as well.  I love that I remember those details.  But, it still chokes me up to remember it at the same time. 

Things are so much better with the area of grieving, but some days I just sit there and think.  What if?  My "What ifs" will likely never be answered, but I pray they are. 

I remember sister-in-law, Tera, whom lost her mother a young age, telling me... "Addy will give you strength."

And, she has.  My surviving daughter, my miracle on Earth, my sunshine has given me strength.

Want to know a secret?  Lately, Addy has been fighting diaper changes and getting clothes on and off.  It's a nightmare at times with a lot of screaming.  Well, recently, I started singing to her... I started singing...

You are my sunshine.
My only sunshine.
You make me happy,
when skies are gray.
You'll never know dear
How much I love you.
Please don't take, my sunshine, away.

She giggles and smiles.  She's my sunshine.  On the toughest of days, she can lean over and give me a kiss or just look at me and giggle (as she often does) and she momentarily takes away my pain and reminds me that what we did for Reagan was worth it.  And, that when Dr. Wenstrom told me to my face with tears welling in her eyes, a grown woman, a mother herself, a medical professional who came down to my level with the deepest sympathy you can give, and said "I have no doubt that you have done everything as a mother to save your daughter."  I think she should of said daughters. Because, given the fact that I had unexplained pre-term labor, I did everything in my power as a mother to save both my daughters.  By allowing God to make the decision for me (via several medical professionals), I gave life to my other daughter.  There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think "What if."  But, I know deep down that Reagan was Addy's hero and Addy's angel.  Reagan saved Addy.  I did all I could for Reagan and when the time came that we could do no more.  Reagan helped me save Addy.  And, I firmly believe it is because of Reagan that Addy has done so well.  In fact, I know.

I miss my sweet girl.  Many grieving parents speak of seeing their child(ren) in their dreams or just feeling that they were there.  I don't so much feel Reagan anymore, but a wise woman who experienced grief herself told me that once she stopped thinking about not seeing/feeling her son, she started to.  I'm hoping once that part of the grief starts to ease that I can start having dreams about my baby girl.  I have yet to do so.  I did when I was pregnant, but that was it. 

Anyway, those are my ramblings. 

A little over a year ago, I started researching a word called "Cloaca."  And, when I did, all I found was information about zoology and birds and other animals.  It was so confusing at first, but I spoke with enough Maternal Fetal Medicine Specialist, high-risk obstetricians, pediatric urologists, and other medical professionals that together, we pieced together the information and I learned what Cloaca was in a baby.  In fact, after Reagan's autopsy reports returned, we planned to see Dr. Gentry (our reproductive endocrinologist) and he actually has a patient with Cloaca.  Go figure eh?  When I was searching left and right for information on it, it wasn't here.  And, now, when I know what it is and I google the SAME information it is there. 

Divine intervention at it's best?  I believe so. 

I think the information wasn't there or I couldn't see or find it because we never gave up HOPE on our sweet Reagan.  We held out EVERY ounce of hope that we could find on new leads to get us to new doctors that maybe had new opinions.  And, after Vanderbilt, I felt at peace.  I was angry.  I was visibly upset.  But, I was at peace.  It overwhelmed me and I knew... I had done everything as a mother to save Reagan, my daughter.

Now?  Where did all the research come from?  No idea.  I typed in Cloaca baby in the subject line and bam, several links to children with Cloaca.  Some just medical jargon, some information on a 2 yo that underwent surgery, and of course the link to zoology to discuss Cloaca in animals. 

I'm still searching for that greater purpose that I know Reagan has.  I ponder the thought of writing a book about grieving a child before they are born or raising a twinless twin or just losing a baby after birth.  Reagan offered hope to so many and deep down there is something yearning for me to find a way to give hope to others and live out her legacy that I really feel she would want me to do.....

As a mother, I did everything I could do to save my daughter.  And, as a mother, I hope to do everything I can to fulfill my daughter's legacy.  Her legacy of hope.