Happy birthday, Ligaya Isabella Harrison

A few days after Ligaya passed away, Nate and I visited the infant section of Pacific View Memorial Park to select her space. As I walked among the tiny graves, I read the dates and wondered what it was like for the parents who buried their children 2 years ago - 5 years ago - 10. A crazy part of me envied them for being so far out from their losses when it was so fresh for us. I didn’t realize then that it doesn’t matter if it’s been 1 year or 25 or 50 – you will forever have the “empty spot” - a piece of your heart that’s missing because they’re missing.  

There is no replacement for what we have lost. It is simply too great. Sure, the pain isn’t as raw and intense as those first few weeks, and some days I wake up with pancakes on the brain…but I am always aware that she isn’t here. I am always missing her. That remains a constant in this weird, new universe.

 Today is Ligaya’s birthday.  Happy birthday, Little Bird!

What a strange feeling to be one year out now. I wanted it, then dreaded its approach because I was scared of the pain it would bring.

And now it’s here.

But the ache is no greater than it was yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that, because I miss her today JUST as much as I did yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. There is no “more” or “less” of missing her as time passes. We will carry that load for the rest of our lives.

What does continue to grow? Love…courage…acceptance…an appreciation for life that wasn’t there before…and strength. So much strength powered by the love for the bravest little soul we have ever known.

How very fast it went – this year.

Time on earth is funny and fickle in an almost cruel sort of way – busted three-legged turtle speed while on bedrest and 186,000 miles per second every moment since then. I take comfort in knowing that it isn’t measured where she is – time doesn’t exist in that sacred space. One day she’ll turn around after giving our dog Pudge a belly rub, and just see me, and it’ll be like I had always been there.

One year.

Nate and I have spent the last 365 days, 525,600 minutes, countless steps, breaths, tears and millions of what-if’s, what could have been’s, and what should be’s holding each other up when the pain has felt like it was going to break us into thousands of tiny pieces.  Our family and friends have been a huge support to us during this time as well, and we are so, so thankful to everyone for everything. I may have forgotten to send out the thank you cards, but I haven’t forgotten you.

This song…I recorded this when I was still pregnant with Ligaya. It was a promise to take care of her, protect her, fix anything that needed fixing, or at the very least, die trying in the process. In the end, I had no control over what happened, no matter how hard I tried. I understand that now. Now, it is Ligaya who fixes us. She is the light that will guide us home in the end. From the first time I saw her tiny heart flicker on the screen at 5 weeks, I always knew she would be the light that would guide me home.

Fix You (Cover) - Coldplay

A year ago today, a beautiful baby girl with the most perfect little face came into this world- my Little Bean, our Little Bird. Her mighty heart danced, sang, and beat like a thousand drums for two hours. Me and Nate are stronger together today because of Ligaya. It is the gift she left us on the day she was born.

Happy birthday, Ligaya Isabella Harrison. We love and miss you every second that we are breathing.

Love, Light, and Ligaya - CS

Anger is a short madness - Horace. Not when you've lost so much - Me.

As we get closer to the year anniversary of Ligaya’s birth and death, I find myself getting more anxious, more angry, more sad, more crazy, more everything.  It  ALL  sets me off.
 

All of the things.

 

From the STANK ASS person in Zumba class who smells like they’re suffering from a prolapsed bladder (change your damn workout clothes) to the ants who marched into our kitchen and into my baking cupboard (I HATE); from the 10 salespeople at my local Verizon store doing a circle jerk over their fantasy football picks instead of helping out customers (the woman in this video is not me…but oh so close: http://youtu.be/TYhYShM-vzo) to the people who talk and whisper and text during a movie (you pay like a million dollars for the experience and you’re not even paying attention?! Get the hell out of here before I punch you in the face) – no one is immune to my fury.

 I’ve tried my usual techniques to pull it together:

• Zumba: I find myself too distracted by the stink though. My neck grows tired from swiveling around to find the culprit/s.
• Meditation: does imagining a rain of fire crashing down on the Verizon store count?
• $15 Chinese reflexology massages: these are really hit or miss. I've yet to find someone who either: A) doesn't go out of their way to inflict as much pain as possible or B) applies more pressure than the rarest of butterflies delicately sunning itself on an upturned dew-dropped leaf.
• Stuffing my face: let's not even talk about the frequency and randommness of one's bowel movements after their gallbladder is taken out. I like to roll the dice every now and then, but if I have to make some sort of appearance in public that day, eating is a hard bet to place and the odds aren't often in my favor.

It's just a really difficult time, and so far, I haven't made much progress other than to drop a few pounds (thanks to not eating on account of the ass clenching terror of suddenly having to use a bathroom outside the comfort of my own home).
 

My brothers and sisters in loss have all told me that the first birthday is the hardest. Some have said that the actual day of is not as bad as the days leading up to it. Others have said it’s far worse than they could have possibly imagined. Damn. We’re not there yet, but we’re close.

The thing is, how do you celebrate something like that? How do I muster up the strength and courage to call up my favorite bakery and ask them to do a birthday cake for our girl who isn’t here to blow out the candles? I admire the moms who can. At this moment, I don't think I'm able. We'll see.

We do plan on honoring Ligaya by taking part in the OC Walk to Remember on October 5^th. October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. I never even knew this existed until it happened to us. Please check out this website and this wonderful organization that recognizes the importance of honoring babies who were here, but couldn’t stay. How I wish she could have. How I wish all of them could have. 

http://www.ocwalktoremember.org/2013-walk

Walking for this event will be hard and sad and so painful, but we do it for Ligaya.  We do it for all the babies who never got the chance to take their steps in this great big world. They were here. They existed. They were real. And they were people, too.

 

Love you Little Bird - we're almost there now.

Love, Light, and Ligaya - CS <3 font="">

 

And the world spins madly on

Armed with every intention to EAT HEALTHY, I went to Whole Foods Market after visiting Ligaya at Pacific View Memorial Park in Corona del Mar a few days ago. This was an excursion that was doomed to fail from the second I got it in my head that I should do a little “casual” food shopping there to the moment I almost got hit by a texting, BMW driving infant on the way back to my car. Somewhere in the middle of all that, right smack in the center of the $8.49/lb hot food aisle, I almost got trampled by a giraffe posing as a human in a pair of red heels. Oh, those 1%’ers. Sure, I was dressed in my usual attire of fat pants and a t-shirt with a caramel macchiato splatter across the front, but that’s no excuse to run me over in a grocery store. Share the aisle, giraffe! I am a creature of God, too. Sadly, I was not in any shape to brawl due to recently undergoing gallbladder surgery, so I let her roam on.

Anyway, I got this all wrong. What happened to the plan where I’m supposed to be better with my money? Whole Foods may have organic, healthy stuff, but it’s all very, very expensive. Like super.  I saw a few different cereals for $19.99/lb.  A pound! The hell?! I would be so nervous about wasting that crap that I’d end up not eating any at all and the whole precious pound would eventually go bad. It’d be just like the year I signed up for a Massage Envy membership. I hoarded those paid monthly sessions and kept rolling them over until I had 6 left to use less than a week before my contract was set to expire. I love a good massage, but I loved the idea of having a treasure trove of them even more because I have a mental illness.  In any case, I couldn’t pull it off. It was simply too much to tackle in a span of 5 days. Money = wasted  = dumb.

So.  Did I listen to the voice in my head that said to turn back and head for a more fiscally-and-fat-pants-friendly establishment? Yes. 

Until I walked by the seafood aisle and saw the little sign for Hawaiian Poke (raw tuna).  I am a major sucka for good Poke, and using some very sound logic that it would be difficult to fly to Hawaii right now to due to severe budget constraints, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to buy some at the bargain basement price of $19.99/lb.  I know, I know. But at least it wasn’t cereal!  It was so good.  I was nice and even shared with Nate for once. That pound went a long way.

Here's a picture of poke - not the one I bought since I fatty'd out and didn't think to take a picture before consumption.

http://www.danshawaii.com/images/O-poundofpokefromono.jpg

That wasn’t my only purchase though. I stumbled across the bakery aisle and decided to throw my last two shits and dollars to the wind and buy some overpriced cookies all in the name of market research (I use this excuse too much, I think).

I picked out two different brands – one for its simple packaging that made it look homemade and the other based on the description of being “The Best Chocolate Chip Cookies in the World!” Wow, THE BALLS ON THEM.

Isabella’s Original = not good.  They looked homemade, but they tasted gross…kinda like wet, chewy chalk wrapped in wet, lumpy toilet paper. I really have no other way to describe them.

Bart and Judy’s = these were ok, but the best in the world? No. Bart and Judy, you are too bold.  Too damn bold.

What a bust. I’ll stick to Famous Amos and Animal Crackers when I’m in the mood for that kind of prepackaged caca. Oh well, at least the tuna was good. I won’t be going back though. I’m now a reformed spender. I have put the top back up on the Ferrari, rolled up the windows, and parked it in the garage for permanent. Because seriously...no money, mo' problems.

In other news:

• Gallbladder surgery went well. 2 surgeries in 2 months. Here’s to hoping nothing else gets broken. That means you, Appendix.

• I’m once again part of the work force (part-time only, and I have to say I’m actually enjoying it.  It's nowhere near as stressful as my last job and I don’t want to kill anyone).

• The IRS people wrote me back and apologized for their idiot of an employee who asked those gut wrenching questions about Ligaya last month.

• I'm singing the National Anthem at the Angels game tonight when they play Houston (talk about a crap season), and as usual, I haven't found anything to wear yet.

• I’ve held 2 beautiful freshly born babies (Malachi and Reese) and an adorable toddler (Ian) in the last few weeks, and instead of it feeling like I was chewing on a mouthful of broken glass the whole time, my heart grew a million times bigger in my chest and I realized that I still have: 
  
  
  

  HOPE

• But it doesn't change the fact that I miss my girl so damn much.

• I turned 37 on the 8th, but it felt like just another day because...

• As The Weepies so gracefully put it below in one of my most favorite songs and videos ever....

The world spins madly on 

http://youtu.be/L4sa2HoXpsE

Me without you

Just a few more months and we'll hit a year, Baby Bird. I love you always, always, always.

Love, Light, and Ligaya - CS

Well, this is awkward...I'm still here

It’s been awhile.  How fast the time goes! July? Already? WTF? If someone had told me 9 months ago that time heals all wounds and I’d eventually be around again to register my car for another year, feel the heat of another summer, and catch the latest season of True Blood (how long can they keep going with these ridiculous storylines anyway? Whatever. Eric Northman, I heart you, you big strapping Viking of a vampire) -  I’d have wanted to spit in their eye, bust their knee caps, and dance on their head while screaming, “KEEP YOURSELF TO YOURSELF, YOU WALKING CLICHÉ GENERATOR!”

Well, thank goodness I kept my limbs to myself because a lot of well meaning people who I adore delivered that message in various ways. Instead of responding or doing anything at the time, I simply remained quiet and filed their words away to the way, way back of my battered heart.

And now, I’m still here.  I still live and breathe. I will say that time doesn’t heal all wounds, though.  It doesn’t “get better”. It simply IS. You learn to live with the longing, the what-if’s, and the why’s.  You adjust your life around the heartache.  You adjust the heartache around your life. It’s like a never ending game of Jenga – you carefully build UP, UP, UP – never quite stable, always teetering on the edge of collapse. It takes focus.  It is exhausting.  It just IS.   

And while that raw, intense, unbearable pain no longer weighs like a thousand stones upon my heart – I still miss her every second that I am here living and breathing. That will never go away. I look for her in everything. I see her everywhere.

So, I've decided it’s time for an assessment of where I currently am in this crazy ass journey of life. It’s time to reflect and make some necessary changes. I always want to honor my girl. I want her to be proud of me. Sometimes I succeed. All the time, I need to work harder.

Here we go: 

1. I’m still baking: Little Bird’s Cookie Service does one to two big events a month, which is all I've been able to handle for now. I definitely need to be more aggressive with getting the word out, but I’ve had to take care of a few pressing matters (surgery to correct my errant cervix/fighting with insurance to get this procedure covered. The battle wages on!). In the meantime, a part-time opportunity has come up that I'm thinking about taking. It’s flexible enough that I'll still be able to work on Little Bird orders and even step it up a bit. It’s not an untruth that you need money to make money.  Butter is expensive. The good shit always is.

  

   2. Singing: This actually has been going well.  I’ve already done 4 Angels games this season and I still have 2 more to go, including any cancellations they may call me for. I still get the shakes before singing, but I know Ligaya is always with me. I wear a necklace that sports her little footprints right close to my heart. I always spot her on the field in some form – little birds, a butterfly, and a dragonfly have all flown right next to my head before I walk up to do the Anthem. It brings me so much peace right before the moment I lift my voice to sing. I lift my voice for her. There may be tens of thousands of people there, but I sing for her.

I’ve also started up with my old guitarist again. It’s been awhile, but we’re getting up to speed so we can start playing out like we used to.  And finally, I will be a music volunteer at different hospices and care facilities – just spending time with patients and sharing my voice and love of music. I hope I can bring comfort in some way to those who need it most.

 

3. Health: my cervix is now bionic (translation: what happened with Ligaya will NEVER happen again).  I flew to Chicago in May to have a transabdominal cerclage placed by one of the best surgeons in the United States. I don’t know what other issues may pop up in my next pregnancy, but it sure as hell isn’t going to be my cervix. That thing is not budging. Now I just have to get the rest of my body in order.

• Zumba: I hopped back on the party bus and rejoined the Latin Dance craze.  I was doing up to 2 hours a day for weeks until my damn calf muscle snapped during the warm-up a few days ago. Snapped like a rubber band. Snapped like a wet towel. Snapped like me at the IRS office (see below). So sad.  I love Zumba! It’s so fun! My goal is/was to become a certified instructor by the end of the year (or middle of next year). Doctor said recovery could take about a month, so I’m getting off the party bus for now and jumping in the pool for some aqua aerobics (in a few weeks when I’m able to walk without cursing)

• Aqua aerobics: I may be the youngest person in the pool, but don’t let the geriatric crew fool you.  They are intense. They are super adept at throwing shade and yelling “SHUSH”. They rock at Zumba, too. In time, I hope to be able to out-swim and out-twerk them (you haven’t lived until you’ve witnessed an 80-year old twerk as if her life depended on it. Miley Cyrus ain't got nothing on her. Unfortunately, while the rest of the class whooped, hollered, and pointed while thinking the old gal was simply dropping it like it was hot, her knee had actually given out. She really did drop.  She ended up being ok though….unlike me and my busted leg)

• Diet: Not so much. I have no problem salsa-ing, samba-ing and riding a water noodle for several hours a day (oh stop), but all of that hard work is often negated by the amount of food I cram down my throat. I need to stop.My cardiologist basically said I sucked and need to get my health in order, so I’m going to work on a little something called m-o-d-e-r-a-t-i-o-n. “Maintenance” should only apply once you hit your goal weight, not while you’re still at your fat weight.
  
  
  

4. Patience/Tolerance level (for idiots):  Slim to none. I was escorted out of the IRS office last week by security after a beyond epic meltdown in front of quite a lot of people.  After waiting over 6 hours to talk to someone, I got stuck with a real winner. People can blame it on culture or a language barrier, but asking questions about the nature of my daughter’s birth and death were not appropriate.  Asking if she was born with all her body parts (WTF) and telling me I basically had a miscarriage since I was only 6 months is not the way. NOT THE WAY.  Adding insult to injury, the dumb broad couldn’t even help me and told me I had to come back another day and wait all over again – she even said that I didn’t understand how the government worked in terms of timelines. BITCH, I WORKED FOR A COLLEGE FUNDED BY THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA FOR LIKE A MILLION YEARS! I KNOW HOW THE GOVERNMENT WORKS (does not work).  So I basically snapped. Like Amanda Bynes. Like Lindsay Lohan. Like an Amanda/Lindsay cray-nado.  Like my calf muscle.

After 6 hours of waiting in a crowded lobby, having no sustenance the whole day,and  having to explain that I did, in fact, deliver via c-section a “real baby, a beautiful baby girl who looked like her dad – one that we had a funeral for, that we buried in Corona del Mar and visit almost every day”, I exploded into a million fragments of mad and sad and furious and indignant and enraged.  I begged her to let me call Nate to ask him a question. As soon as I picked up the phone, security came to take me away. She said using a phone was against the rules and I was some kind of security threat because I refused to leave. Oh, the fury.

I’m not letting this go.  I’m waiting for a call back from her supervisor. I’ve also emailed two different departments at the IRS with my complaint. Oh, and Yelp -  a 1 star review, Santa Ana office – a 1 star review when I really mean 0, but that is not an option! There is no reason she should have been asking me questions like that.  Who in the hell asks a bereaved mother if her baby was born with a head and body?!? Jesus H.

How am I with everything else? Pretty good. I’ve managed to keep my stress level in check regarding most other things.

  

5.  Spending:  like a mofo.  Gotta work on this. There is no reason I should be having iced caramel macchiatos every day. They cost a grip. Plus, the extra caramel is against doctor’s orders (see #3). It's definitely been all kinds of weird not having a steady paycheck the last few months, but the peace of mind I've had since leaving that 9th circle of Hell of a job has been priceless. I really just have to do better with my cash.

Well, there it is - a brief update and assessment of the last few months. So many things to work on, but I will. I made a promise to Ligaya and I’m going to work harder than ever. No excuses. 

The leg situation makes things like mobility and coherent thought a little more difficult, but I won’t let it stop me. I got this. I even lifted weights (not quite like a boss) while lying on the couch yesterday. Unfortunately, I almost broke my back and required Nate’s immediate assistance. But other than that?  I got this. If this is my prison, then my leg is my bitch!

9 months – wow, it goes fast. Miss you every second of my existence, Little Bird. 

Love, Light, and Ligaya - CS

I quit. I quit? I QUIT.

When I first started that 2 week intensive outpatient therapy gig last month, I was surrounded by people whose chief complaint was work stress. At the time, I had railed against Kaiser's misstep in sticking me in a group that clearly was not in the same league, let alone ballpark, as me. Work stress - baby loss. Work stress - baby loss. You do the math. 

Yes, I was somewhat of a judgmental bitch, and in all honesty, I still can be a judgmental --- yet apologetic --- bitch when it comes to comparing other people's problems to my own (I am so, so sorry.....but mine's worse than yours. Booyah!). But that's not right. Everyone has their own story, their own personal tragedies, their own hurt that they carry in their heart. We're all different and we're all just trying to find our way to the mothership. I'm slowly getting that.

Alas, I returned to work last week. Work stress? Sure. In a perfect world where babies don't die, I could tackle the drama and the politics and the 500 pounds of paper sitting on my desk like a champ (Staff Member of the Year 2010-2011). I've done it for a long time. Paychecks are nice --- buuuut obviously it's not a perfect world. And really - I don't need more stuff.

So now I've gone and done it. I've made the decision to leave my job. Here is a conversation between myself and myself shortly after turning in my irrevocable notice of resignation (because that's how I do...I question my decisions after it's too late to do anything about it):

"What? In THIS economy? You don't mean the union job you can never be fired from with the amazing benefits and the steady paycheck and all those paid vacation days that taxpayers and everyone else in the real job world complain about and hate you for? People would kill for your job. Shouldn't you be, like, grateful or something?" said Me.

"Yep, that's the one," said Me.

"But...but...BUT you have the new house and the bills and THE SADNESS and you're so, SO impulsive - you DO remember the $40,000 Volvo that you just HAD to have, right? You ended up selling it back to the dealership after three months and lost like $7,000!"

"Yes, that car was for Ligaya. I don't regret it.  Besides, angels don't sweat safety ratings. And yeah, I'm sad, but I want to do good by my girl. I have hope in my heart. I believe there are better things I could be doing, you know? Things that can make a difference in my life and in the lives of others...going back to music, baking, giving piano lessons...you know...stuff like that there. And by the way, you're a jerk for trying to make me doubt myself."

"I'm not a jerk! I'm just concerned about your future. Your cookies are ok and you sing a'ight, but your ass is gonna go broke. Like...SUPER. Bye bye $40 Kiehl's ultra facial moisturizer. Goodbye to eating out all the time - you're gonna have to learn how to cook things that don't involve flour, butter, or sugar. It's called "real food", Sucka."

"Wow, you're really somethin'. No, I probably won't make a lot of money, but I think I'll be ok in the end. Dude, are we done here? You're really annoying. And look, I made spaghetti noodles."

"Well oooook, but you're probably going to regret this later. I KNOW YOU."

"Nah, I'd regret it more if I stayed. That place makes me want to punch people in the throat all the time. Little Bird doesn't like it when I start thinking about burning down buildings and flipping cars over with the power of my own mind. It's a little unsettling. And you know what?  You don't know me. I'm not that same me anymore."

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/2a/Hummingbird.jpg

Truth - I'm not the same. And while I don't exactly know who I am these days because I'm constantly having to adjust to a world that keeps on moving constantly --- even when I want to be still --- I do know that staying in an environment that makes me want to inflict bodily harm on people isn't the way to go (even if the people I want to harm totally deserve it).

Nope, this place isn't on the roadmap to healing. Staying here and being unhappy about work while being unhappy over what happened to my daughter makes for unhappy multiplied by infinity. This isn't the way to honor Ligaya. So I'm out. Sure, I've got the voices in my head (and my therapist) telling me that I'm making the wrong decision, the right decision, a stupid decision, the smartest decision, the worst decision, and the best, so I'm just gonna go with my gut. Gut says GO.

I'm less than 4 months out from the loss of my daughter. Monday was her projected due date. That was hard and I'm having a difficult time clawing myself out of the dark. It's a constant struggle to even get just a glimpse of the light. I'm no expert, but this is what I do know from first hand experience ---living while grieving takes every ounce of energy you have. What little I try to build up doesn't need to be expended on straight up bitches and a job that no longer fulfills my greater needs. Time to put that energy somewhere else. Yes, I have a history of being impulsive when it comes to certain things, but I have a different purpose in life now and a greater understanding and appreciation for just how precious and short it really is. 

So --- I'm going to focus on healing, pray for guidance, listen to my heart, feel Ligaya's wings envelop me, and fly this coop. Am I scared? Hell yes. But THE WORST thing that could ever possibly happen to me has already happened and I'm still standing. Anything else can be remedied in some way...somehow. The risk is worth it, so leap.

These help whenever I need a boost (I always keep the good ones):

And I certainly couldn't get through any of this without Nate's love and support. Any of it. That's why I've kept this one for years and years and years:

Love, Light, and Ligaya - CS

And a little bird shall lead me...

Here are just a few things I've learned over the past two weeks of being stuck in intensive outpatient group therapy (yes, this is where you may get sent if, God forbid, you ever lose a child....and have Kaiser):

LESSON #1 - There are other people in the world that hurt besides me.
I can totally see how work stress can be debilitating, but holy fucking shit, do I EVER wish that this was my problem. Work stress? Really? That is so me pre-2012.

LESSON #2 - Anger is a choice.
Well, yes. But they also said something in group therapy about anger being creativity turned outward...actually, I don't remember the wording exactly (that's how good of an outpatient I was). In any case, I can choose to sit in my heartbreak amongst the shattered remains of several cans of low sodium Pringles, empty bottles of imported near beer, and the stale cold smell of my own body, OR I can be productive and take a shower and write about stupid things like...

• Kim Kardashian - Someone....something...all ye monsters of the earth and sea, including Kim's own gigantic ass...I call on you to do the universe a favor and COME AND TAKE THIS WOMAN, PLEASE!

• The dumb broad who tailgated me on the freeway the other day - do you know whose ass you're trying to grind on? Yeah, I've got a Class C driver's license. "C" for CRAZY. A few years ago I went to the DMV not knowing they would retake my picture that day. The photo below shows my unfortunate choice in wardrobe. The camera got me from "A Little Nutty" up. It almost looked official, stamped right across the bottom of the picture like a warning. That was my driver's license photo for several years. So yeah...I got your number, lady.

 

• The squinty eyed teenager skateboarding around the parking lot of Stater Bros. - I almost hit you. I probably wouldn't have even felt bad about it (see above regarding driver's license classification). And by "squinty", I do not mean Asian, so don't get excited and call me an Asian-hating-Asian. (Example: Taylor Swift posing with a "Here's looking at you" squint)

• The bag of flour that ripped open in the checkout line of Stater Bros. - because what's more attractive than wearing fat pants sprinkled with a fine dust of white powder across the front? If I could've taken you home, flour, I SO would've kneaded the shit out of you.

 

 

LESSON #3 - Breathing exercises are helpful...but hard

Stay focused on your breathing...in and out, in and out. This helps you to stay mindful and live in the present. I think I need more practice. During these exercises, my mind did not stay focused on my breathing. My brain decided to wander over to:

•  Very dark places - what's the point of living without Ligaya?
•    Interesting places - I wonder if it's not too late in life to become a professional magician
• Sad places – my heart is so very, very broken
• Weird places - I enjoy picturing angry cats wearing Christmas sweaters and salsa dancing to Michael Buble's music. I want to punch that guy in his smuggy smug little face, by the way.
• Creative places - LITTLE BIRD'S COOKIE SERVICE! LIGAYA'S LULLABIES!

So here I am – a new graduate of intensive outpatient therapy, but instead of another diploma to misplace in my file cabinet, I have a piece of paper that says I’m cleared to go back to work tomorrow. Ah, mental health in America. But that’s a subject for another day.

To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t all that bad. I met some really nice people (even if I did tire myself out at times with the amount of shade I was throwing); and I definitely think it’s a positive sign that my choice to be angry has fueled the fire of productivity (it doesn’t only include complaining about Kim Kardashian. I’m baking – see last photograph below for proof). It’s that fire that gets me out of bed in the morning.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm still sad – there will always be that (so please don't tell me that "time heals all wounds" or you will get: a) a lecture; b) a side-eye; c) arm barred; d) all of the above and then some) – but I'm constantly learning to mold each moment of the day around the heartache. I made a promise to my Little Ligaya Bird that I would live a life that honors her and I have to try. Everyday.

I also made a promise to Nate that I would keep up my half of the mortgage on our brand new place and I don't want to let him down. I also don't want to be homeless.

There are a million things I have to do in order to get Little Bird’s Cookie Service off the ground, but thanks to the California Homemade Food Act (AB1616), I’m one step closer to realizing my dream of baking from home and selling my goods. Chances are I probably won't be able to keep up my half of the mortgage on this venture alone, but it's positive movement in a world where the hits just keep on coming. It helps to have an amazing partner who supports what I'm doing (as long as I come up with a concrete plan before the end of the month).

So....I have to stay focused. Baking is something I love to do. Singing is also something I love to do, and when it doesn't hurt to listen to them, I'm eventually going to find a way to incorporate the recordings I have of Ligaya's heartbeat into a series of lullabies. I'm dying to create something out of the ashes...out of the sadness...from of the strength of what's left of my heart. I am powered by the love I have for my daughter. I will not let death defeat us.

So watch this space....

And call me out if you don't see any progress. I'll be more than happy to give you these if you do...

Love, light, and Ligaya - CS