Some people's kids...

This is actually a message of love, contrary to how the title may sound (especially for those who know me personally).

Last weekend, I was hanging out with a dear friend, whose daughter, let's call her "R", needed some help with homework.

I volunteered to look at 1st grade math problems on a worksheet, which "R" rocked out in a matter of minutes - she's very smart!  Once the worksheet was complete, it was time for reading.  "R" only needed to read for 10 minutes, but quickly, 10 minutes became 25 minutes, and then mom said it was pajama time.

"R" didn't want to stop reading, but I promised her that if she took a break, and put her jammies on, we could finish reading in her room.  She was a little hesitant, but soon she had her jammies on and I was piling heaps of blankets on top of her because she said she was very cold.  :)

Once "R" was snuggled under the covers, we picked out a new book to start reading.  As I sat alongside her bed, I realized that this was the type of thing I might be doing with Catelyn.  It was a bittersweet moment.  I found myself sad about what I was missing with my own daughter, but so happy to be having the experience with young, sweet "R".

Within a few minutes, it seemed like it was time for bed.  "R" didn't want to stop reading, but I assured her that I would place a bookmark in her spot and she could pick up where she left off the next day.  She seemed okay with this plan.  I was thinking I would give her a quick squeeze and peck on the forehead, when she said, "Can you lay by me for a while?"

I nearly started to bawl.

What a dear, sweet girl to ask such a thoughtful question.  I knew that if I laid down I would surely start crying, so, instead, I told her that I snore & talk in my sleep (both of which are very true - ask my friends!), and didn't want her to be weirded out.

I gave her a hug, and a quick kiss on the forehead, wished her sweet dreams, and said goodnight.

The experience was tough, but well worth it.  I am grateful for other people's kids - they help heal my heart.

Random acts of Catelyn

Catelyn's third angelversary is 3 days away.  I posted a Facebook event in her memory on August 11th, asking that people consider doing something nice for another person and thinking of Catelyn as they did so.

The response has been overwhelming.  Strangers, acquaintances, friends, and family have generously given their time, talents, health and wealth, all in Catelyn's name.  It is such a beautiful gift to see people unafraid to recognize and honor the life of my daughter, whether they met her or not.

It's hard not to wonder what Catelyn would be like now.  She would be starting her second week of 4 year old kindergarten (4k) today.  

I am blessed to have such amazing support,  and can only hope that the good acts people choose to commit in Catelyn's name/memory comes back to each person tenfold.

a mother's day gift

In her short life, Catelyn was a budding artist.

She had a star-shaped magnetic drawing toy, the kind with an attached stylus and a sliding bar that erased scribblings.  It was made for children ages 3 and up, but she rarely put items she shouldn't ingest in her mouth, and she loved scribbling.  We carried it in her diaper bag, with a variety of other distractions, and it was frequently used.

It wasn't just drawing with that toy that she loved.  She loved crayons and chalk, too.  Even pencils and pens.

Several times, in a pinch of desperation, I was seen pulling a pen and a random piece of paper out for her to scribble with, and one such time was at a board meeting I was attending.  Catelyn's dad and I both had meetings scheduled, and I didn't want to bother anyone by asking thrm to watch her.  I had been told once that my fellow board members loved children and would all understand if I ever needed to bring Catelyn to a meeting.  Our meeting started around 5:30, so I fed Catelyn, grabbed a stash of distractions and headed out to my meeting.

Around 6:30 or so, Catelyn was tired of sitting around at my meeting.  As i recall, she was squirming and vocalizing her discontent.  Everything I had tried was failing, but I had one last trick up my sleeve.  I handed her a fine point pen and a piece of paper.  She proceeded to scribble for the next 15-20 minutes while we wrapped up.

Less than a month later, Catelyn died.

Nearly each time I came across a piece of her art, I would frame it.  Catelyn's dad took one piece to work, I gave one to his parents, and I gave one to my parents.  One day I came across an envelope she 'colored', and I kept it for myself.

Now that Catelyn's dad and I have separated, I have found myself longing for a larger piece of artwork.

Tonight, my eye caught sight of something tucked between my piano and a curtain.  I gently pulled the curtain away and found a treasure.  I couldn't believe it.  I actually found the art piece Catelyn created at my board meeting in August of 2011.

There is no greater gift I could have received as we approach this mother's day weekend.  Interestingly, I had been thinking just today that I was less excited about this mother's day than others since I wouldn't have anyone to recognize me as a mother.

Yet again my very own angel has come through in a way that no one else can.

Thanks for the amazing mother's day drawing my sweetest buggy girl.  Mama loves you!!

Easter 2014

Happy Easter.

Today was a bit tough.  It was hard not being able to spend Easter with Catelyn's dad's side of the family.  Though I had several invites of people to spend time with, I chose to go through it alone.

I feel like Catelyn knew i was a little glum; I received several unique gifts from her today.

First, I walked outside into the driveway and as I approached my car a little voice exclaimed 'Mama!'  It sounded just like Catelyn.  I actually looked for her, only to turn and see a little child with their mom getting on a porch swing.

Second, I was walking out of a grocery store and a family of four was exiting with me.  As I returned my cart, I noticed the daughter was wearing a white Easter dress with pink ribbon, just like Catelyn's easter dress from 2010.  And, to top it off, the little girl was enjoying a banana (C's favorite).

Finally, I was playing words with friends and had a lot of vowels and only two consonants, so I pressed shuffle and up came 'Catie'.

It's always nice to know her spirit is with me.

looking for planks

There is a huge disconnect between the way I see myself, and the way others do.  I don't know how to begin to incorporate 'reality' with my own very skewed perceptions of myself.  Sadly, according to my thoughts, I have no value to offer this world.  I have an enormous laundry list, in my head, of all of the things I've done wrong, and why I am not good.

I've been talking to my therapist, and, as it turns out, I have spent way too much of my life basing my value on the wrong things.  Basically, instead of placing any value in myself and who I am as a person, I placed all of my value in 'things'. 

According to my narrow thoughts "I only have value if I get a college degree in a reputable field of study, if I have a job in my field, if I can afford nice things, if I am married, if I am a mother, if I meet & exceed the highest expectations anyone could have for me.....and so on."  The list is exhausting, and sadly, the items on it really aren't the things that make me valuable to the world.  Besides, in one way or another, I have either denied or lost every single significant item that is on my list of what supposedly gives me value.

Trying to find value in myself and my life feels like an endless struggle.  It is beyond tough. 

Since I don't see any value in myself as a person, I truly cannot fathom how anyone else can.  I have stopped believing people want me in their lives, I have made up stories in my head to convince me why they don't really want me in their lives.  I think things like: "they get paid to tolerate me, they just feel sorry for me, they are my family so they have to care."

I have disconnected myself from so many people, things, and even reality, that it is as though I am out on a ledge on one side of a ravine while everyone else in the world is on the other side.  I feel so separated.

But, there is good news.  My therapist, working with my visual bias for comprehension, explained to me that somehow, there are ropes in place, above the ravine, and if I can find some planks, I can actually start to bridge my way across the ravine.

So, what are these 'planks', and how do I find them? 

'Planks' are when I notice that people around me care.  It's when someone is nice to me, writes me a note, talks to me about my life, invites me out, calls me in the middle of the night to check on me after I make a comment on Facebook that I am having a panic attack, directly tells me that they care about me, sends me a text message, offers me a place to live, checks in on me, etc. 

It's not my job to determine/wonder why they are being nice to me.  It's just important that I recognize people care.

Eventually, after I find a great many planks (perhaps it will take years), I will be able to connect to the fact that people care about me, just because I am me.  And that, my friends, is reason enough.

Now to find those planks...

keep chipping away

According to my login page, my last published entry was submitted on December 16th, 2013.  A lot has changed for me since then. Christmas came, Catelyn's fourth birthday came, the new year began, and somewhere in there I found out my marriage was over.

I have been struggling to know what to write.  I don't want to offend anyone, and yet I really want to keep writing about my life, and how I am doing since Catelyn died.

All I can write is what I know...

Emotional control has been extremely difficult for me since I found out about my impending divorce.  I have actually endured many of the same feelings of inadequacy that I did when Catelyn died.

There was one particular day when I felt like everything was going wrong at work, and my thoughts moved to 'I am such a failure that I can't even do simple tasks at my job.'  A coworker happened to walk by my desk at that moment and mention that lunch was ready in the kitchen.  His kindness during my internal ambush overwhelmed me, and tears began to pour down my face like a raging river.  I scurried away from my desk and took refuge in the ladies locker room.

As I slunk down in anguish, on a couch, berating myself over losing control of my emotions at work, I thought, I'll just call my husband.  Then I quickly remembered that was no longer an option.  My thoughts, once again, turned against me, proclaiming, 'you fail at everything: life, work, marriage, motherhood.'

After an excruciatingly painful mental knockdown drag out in the minutes that followed, I finally took a moment and realized my thoughts were only making things vastly worse.  So I started in with the 'Stuart Smalley' school of thought.  I looked up at the ceiling, perhaps for strength from above, and began saying things (out loud) such as:
'I am a good person.'
'Everyone makes mistakes.'
'My boss said it's not a big deal.'
'Many people get divorced.'
'I am not a failure.'

I began to smile as I remembered the old SNL skit where Michael Jordan was asked to look into the mirror and say "...because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me."  After a moment I went back to my desk, collected and renewed.

Catelyn's death has provided me an opportunity to learn some very important tools on how to overcome the mean thoughts I have toward myself.  I can only hope to keep chipping away at my cruel self-talk in the hard days of grief that lie ahead.

Reality crept in

It's almost always the unexpected...

On Sunday, my husband and I went to get groceries, which seems like a relatively harmless, maybe even 'safe' outing. We had planned to leave early in the morning, but I wanted to take care of a couple of things, and thus we ended up leaving later than we hoped.

Even during the busy rush of the holidays, we prefer to shop at a nearby box store....it's nice to have an 'all in one' stop, as we can only bear so much 'holiday cheer'.  We had a few things on our agenda outside of groceries, including Christmas gifts for four little boys.  We headed straight to the toy section and found one item on our agenda.  We opted to look at the book selection, but found it disappointing, and began to meander towards the cold food section.

As we headed toward our next stop, I saw a mom on a cell phone with three young blond girls heading towards us.  I realized I knew the mom, and tried to think of who it was.  I was excited and asked my husband, "Do you know who that was?"  He wasn't sure, and I said her name.  Then it hit me that this mom was a mom to an "oldest" daughter, and twin daughters.

Catelyn being bapitzed.  May 2010

The twins were a few months younger than Catelyn, but all three of our girls were baptized on the same day.  I turned back to look at the twins, and I felt confused. 

Where were the "little" girls?  Why weren't they little?  They should be little.  They are younger than Catelyn, after all...

And then reality crept in.  Yes, two of the girls in that family are younger than Catelyn, but they aren't so little any more.  They have grown.  They get to continue to grow.

All of this hit my heart like a lightning bolt.  First, I felt it begin to shatter in slow motion, piece by piece.  Two aisles away from where I saw them, I could no longer keep up with the pieces.  I couldn't think straight.  I could barely breathe.  I was looking at the grocery list in my hand thinking that it must have been written in a foreign language because nothing was making sense.

We had 5 items in our cart, and I was about to ask my husband to take over with the list, when he looked at me and said, "I don't want to do this anymore."  I said "Neither do I, let's just get these items and leave."

We scurried to the front of the store where we checked out and left.

As we drove home, I was silently bawling in the passenger seat.  My husband took my hand and asked if I was okay.  I said no, and cried harder.

When I was finally able to speak again, I explained that it has been extremely hard watching our friends' kids growing up, but I've become accustomed to it.  I hate it, but there is nothing I can do to change it.  We see a lot of these kids all of the time.  One of my best friends' son is 2 weeks older than Catelyn.  It sucks, but, again, there is nothing we can do about it.

To see a child (or children) we haven't seen, since Catelyn's death, is so much harder though.  It almost feels as if Catelyn just died again.

It is purely agonizing to see how much time has already passed.

"Good"

For all of my life, including the past two years and 3 months, I am constantly asked how I am doing. 

Like most people, the question comes up during part of the everyday, rote, human interaction.  And, especially in grief, I have learned that most people don't really want to know how other people are doing.

The expectation is usually that someone will greet you and say, "Hi, How are you?"  You will then respond, "Good, and you?", no matter how you really feel.  To which they reply "Good, thanks", no matter how they really feel.  And then you will part ways, feeling fake and mechanical.

Well guess what.  Since Catelyn died, things haven't been 'Good' very often.  And of all the words I reply to "How are you?" with, quite simply, "Good" doesn't even register in my mind as a possibility.

Initially, I couldn't even use words to answer that question.  Instead, I would shrug and mumble, "enh." Of course, I realized that people wanted a positive answer, even if it was fake and not the truth.  So, I started with "Okay".  After a few months, I even worked up to "Fine".

At my job, it is my responsibility to greet people all day. I play the robotic 'how are you' game multiple times a day.  Generally, I try to say, "I'm doing well, how are you?" whether I feel "well" or not.  Late last week, a co-worker passed me in the hallway and said "Hi, how are you?", and I said, "Good, how are you?" 

As we continued in our separate directions, I realized what I said.  Without thinking, I replied that I was "good". 

Good...?

How weird it felt to say that word.  I can guarantee you that as hard as I've tried to "fake" my answers in the last 2 years and three months, I have never been able to pull of "Good".  I've never even tried.

So I paused and thought about it, and realized that it was true.  I actually felt good.

It's not every day, but I actually had a moment where I was good.  :)

four

In late 2008/early 2009, I became very aware that many of my friends were expecting.  I felt like I could throw a feather and hit someone who was either about to give birth, or due sometime in 2009.  It was becoming aggravating as I wanted so badly to have a child, but just could not conceive.  When I found out that I was pregnant, I stopped feeling so hurt, because I had joined the ranks of the parents-to-be.

In August and September of this year, I watched as many of those children posed for precious pictures of their 'First Day of School', and I felt my heart sink.  Catelyn is a December baby, so she would be eligible for 4K in 2014, but seeing all of the little 'friends' with their backpacks and smiles was so crushing.

Something about Catelyn's 4th birthday has caused a shift in my pain that I wasn't expecting.  I don't really know how to describe the pain, either.  I imagine it's just a continuation of the giant void I am left with in her absence.

Most of it, I think, stems from the fact that I simply can't imagine what she would be like now.

She was 3 feet tall at 20 months, so I know she'd be tall.  Perhaps she'd be mistaken for a Kindergartener.  Would her hair be curly or straight?  Would she want to wear dresses or jeans and a shirt?  What would her favorite color be?  What would she like to do?  Would she like having a bare Christmas Tree, with white lights, ribbon, and a star on top; or would she want a brightly colored tree with lots of baubles?  Would she be excited to visit Santa?  What would our Christmas rituals be?  What would our birthday rituals be for her?

It is devastating to know that another Christmas, another birthday, and another new year will all come without her here. 

I can still picture her tasting that first birthday cake.  It was unlike most children with their first pieces of cake.  There was no mashing, spreading, or stickiness, and very little mess at all.  She sweetly scraped a bit of frosting off with her finger, and sat smacking her lips together as she continued to daintily pick up tiny bits of cake and neatly place them in her mouth. 

I wonder what she would do at her 4th birthday.

Nobody said it was easy...

Wednesday night was the annual kids Halloween party at my job.  This is the second time I've helped set up this event.  Last year, I waited until the party started to leave, only to discover that I couldn't handle being present as the children came in. This year, I planned to leave about 15 minutes before the party started.

About 30 minutes before 'go time', one of my co-workers came in with his daughter, who is just older than Catelyn would be.  The little girl commented on liking the witch in our lobby, but she didn't want to touch it.  She said, "I'm not scared, I know it's not real".  This got me to wondering what Catelyn would say.  I had to take a moment and re-compose myself, as the pain was creeping in.  A few minutes passed, and I was close to wrapping up my last duties for the day, when in walked a man with two small children.  Initially, they had to walk out of the building, as the children were frightened, but in no time, they were back.  I watched the dad explaining to his children, a daughter & a son, what each item was, so they wouldn't be fearful.  The daughter was younger, and didn't seem affected, but the boy was concerned with the moving and talking creatures: a witch, broom,  spellbook, cauldron, etc.

The father explained that the children were Monster's, Inc. characters.  The boy was Mike Wazowski, and the girl was Boo, dressed as a monster.  They were absolutely darling.  I actu

As the dad continued to point out different things, I heard him ask, "What's that?"  Immediately, my heart sank and I scurried to punch out and leave. 

"What's that" was Catelyn's first two word combination.  She asked it all of the time. 

As I bolted out the front door of my job, I tried to prevent the tears from starting.  By the time I started my car, I was crying in hysterics. 

All I could think was, "It's not fair". 

I started to drive, and continued to bawl and bawl.

I've had these out of control crying spells before, but it's been a while.  I called my mom, and she encouraged me to pull over.  I told her it's not fair, and she said she knew.  She reminded me that when I hear things that Catelyn said, or see things that remind me of her, it's Catelyn's way of reaching out to me.  I fully believe that, too, but sometimes it's so devastatingly hard to receive those messages. 

I told my mom that I didn't expect it to be this hard still, and she replied, "Nobody said it was easy."

How true.  Everyday I make progress towards hurting less, no, not less, just differently.  The pain is still present, and it always will be.  It doesn't really go away, it just changes.

Happy birthday dear mama...

Well, my birthday is tomorrow tomorrow. This is the first birthday in 2 years I have remotely looked forward to.  I was actually getting a little excited, but then I took my dog for a walk tonight.

You may be wondering what one has to do with the other, but I always like to walk the dog past the cemetery.  As we approached, I began talking to Catelyn, telling her not to be upset that I am looking forward to my birthday.  As I spoke, I told her I want nothing more than to hear her sing the birthday song, and then it hit me.  I never heard her sing happy birthday.  She died 15 days before my birthday.

Tears began to stream down my cheeks.

Since I missed out on any sweet attempts at "happy birthday dear mama", I racked my brain to remember anything she sang.  A memory slowly came to me, and I  decided to sing a song from the PBS TV show 'the cat in the hat knows a lot about that' that she knew quite well.

As the dog and i headed home, I envisioned Catelyn singing and dancing, and through my tears, I was able to smile a bit.

Two years and fourteen days have passed since Catelyn died, and sometimes I am still caught off guard by the unexpected.  I imagine there will always be tough moments in the years to follow....it's just part of the grieving and loving process.

a complicated beast

It's Saturday August 31.  It's the first day of Labor Day Weekend.  September is less than 24 hours away.

We took Catelyn on our first attempted trip to the hospital ER two years ago tomorrow, and were officially admitted on the evening of Labor Day.

I detest this weekend.

Catelyn's two year angelversary is quickly approaching, and the closer it gets, the more my lungs and heart ache.  The space around me is being compressed.  I can't seem to get enough air.  My heart is being squeezed and I feel like I am going to hyperventilate.

How can it be possible that the weight of Catelyn's death is heavier this year?

I feel like Catelyn, and my memories of her, memories are being lost in the shuffle as time moves forward.

People told me that I would remember more as time moved forward, but I feel like I only have the same handful of memories that I did when she died.

I am not comforted.  I want Catelyn to be remembered and not forgotten.

I feel like I am failing her as much as an angel as I did while I could hold her in my arms.

I feel alone in my grief.

I know I'm not, but my head can't convince my heart that I'm not the only one in pain.

I feel like people are forgetting.  That makes me sad, and angry, and heartbroken.

I am struggling to find peace as this angelversary approaches.  I don't know how others do this...moment by moment, I'm sure...

Grief is certainly a complicated beast.

4th & fireworks

For the 4th of July this year, we were invited to a friend's house for fireworks.  There were tons of people invited.  On the day of the party, I scanned the Facebook invitation, only to realize that, for the most part, it was strictly families that were on the list.

It was an honor to be included, but I was hesitant to go...

I didn't recognize a lot of the names on FB, and I wasn't sure how it would feel to see families snuggling up their kiddos to enjoy the pyrotechnics.  (Not to mention that I struggle with being in public to begin with...)

Eventually, my husband and I decided it was better to go and hang out than to stay home and be anti-social (this was EXTREMELY hard for me, as I prefer to crawl into my hiding space and avoid social situations). 

We arrived, and were greeted immediately.  We scoped out several people we knew, and it was okay....but I still really struggled.  We met some new people we hadn't met before, and while they never asked if we had kids, they had kids. 

Everyone was extremely nice and welcoming, but it was hard watching families interacting.  They were intact.

I felt like I couldn't really talk to anyone about the emotions I was facing.  Of course, the fears I had stemmed from my own interpretation of the situation, but that didn't lessen them any.

Then, about the time I felt like I didn't belong at all and should just go, I met a woman who knows a family that attends the same Compassionate Friends chapter that I do.  That helped some.  I found myself feeling freed in being able to recognize my deceased daughter.

Soon, I was alone again, trying to figure out how I fit into the happy celebration happening around me.  I contemplated latching onto a few new friends that I recently made, but my social skills aren't up to par, and my feeble attempt to connect only made me feel like more of an outsider.  As the stars began to appear overhead, it was finally time for the show.  I found my husband and we took a seat. 

The whole time we were there I wondered what Catelyn would be like now, as a three and a half year old. 

Who would she have been running around with?  Would she have been bossy like her mom, trying to tell the other kids how to behave?  Would she have been best friends with the little girls?  Would she have played football with the boys?  Would she love the fireworks or would they scare her?  Would she play on the swings or in the field or in the bouncy house? 

On occasion, I will come up with answers that make my heart feel good, but it only lasts for a moment because I can only guess and never actually know the answers.  Everyday I live with unanswered questions.... sometimes holidays and social gatherings are the hardest.

more heartache.

Monday sucked.

As I drove to work, I realized that this is the time of year when I become more aware of Catelyn's "lasts".  I am hopeful that this year won't come with all of the pain that last year did, but only time will tell.

Even with those feelings creeping up, the primary reason Monday was so crappy is that I learned of the death of a young man from the area I live in.

His name is John.  I don't know John extremely well, I know his mom, sister, and a handful of extended family members a bit better.  However, I do know a few things about John.

First, he is 19 years old.  I watched him go through his confirmation classes, and had the pleasure of making his confirmation certificate, too.  John is the guy who is always willing to help everyone.  He has been involved in 4H numerous years - probably since birth.  He helped for many years in the Sunday School rooms, as a volunteer at church.  He has always been active in the community.  He is bright, funny, and compassionate, and not only is he well liked by everyone, but extremely well known in the community.

I can't begin to express how agonizing it is to see others have to go through this type of loss.  It makes me feel so helpless.

One of the hardest parts is that, even with my own experience, I don't know what to say or do, or how to act.  I want to offer comfort to those in mourning, but it's like my tongue becomes this heavy weight, and I am trying so hard to lift it that I lose sight of my intentions and the next thing you know my entire foot is in my mouth.

I am convinced that there is no 'right' thing to say when a loved one dies.  It just sucks, and no words can really make it better because the only thing you want is for that person to be alive and not dead.

This particular death is pretty hard for me.  Maybe it's timing, maybe it's because I know his family, maybe it's just hard....  This death has stirred a lot of feelings and questions inside me.

It makes me think of Catelyn.
It reminds me how bewildered I was.
It reminds me how the shock took over, and I had no idea what I was doing, but I was doing it.
It reminds me of the first days when I felt like it had yo be a terrible dream.
It makes me wonder how word spread about Catelyn's death.
It makes me wonder what people said when they found out.
It makes my heart ache in different ways than it has before.

There isn't much I wouldn't give to prevent others from having to suffer a loss as great as the death of a child.

it's not enough.

At the June meeting of the Compassionate Friends in my area, a mom seated next to me began crying.  She said she felt like she couldn't do enough to preserve the memory of her son.  She said she felt like she wanted to purchase a billboard just to get his face seen by more people.  She then apologized for saying it.

I sat next to her with tears streaming down my face, and I blurted out "Don't apologize for how you feel.  I think it's a great idea and personally,  I think we should all do that for our children."

As we wrapped up that evening, someone asked what people have done to remember their children.  I mentioned Catelyn's ever growing list:

baby hats I have knitted to donate in Catelyn's name

• Linus blankets (and Catelyn cares blankets)
• Pool feature at our local toddler/baby pool
• A spot in our local library to be named "Catelyn's Corner"
• Library books dedicated in her name
• Toy, book, and monetary donations to local hospitals
• A memorial blood drive
• Random acts of kindness committed in Catelyn's name
• Knitted baby hats to be donated to hospitals in Catelyn's name
• A donation to our local veteran's memorial park

I am certain I have forgotten to list some of the wonderful things...

We have an amazing and lengthy list of ways we remember Catelyn and reach out to others in her name, but the words of the other mother at my meeting ring true.

Somehow it doesn't feel like I can do enough to preserve the memory of Catelyn.

I think I could get all of our memorial acts/efforts tattooed in a 12 inch font on every open space on my skin (which currently is tattoo-less), and even if I was covered from head-to-toe I don't believe I would be satisfied.

I need the world to know what an amazing girl Catelyn was, and I want their lives to be forever changed when they learn about her....maybe then I could consider having done "enough" to honor her short life...

Knowing me I would still do more...