Baby Gavin Reimer

From my desk I took a deep breath and prayed, “Lord, God, let this be a worthy and accurate portrayal of this precious baby boy’s life, and all of the love that surrounded him before and after he was born — the 6 hours he shared his breaths and heartbeats with his beloved family. I pray that there are no complications with the software, hardware or anything else. Please inspire me internally and externally and enable me to make the very most of this limited time. In your name I pray.”

Bitter tears streamed down my face as I organized, spliced, synced and labeled each precious moment captured in photographs. His mama had given me the artistic liberty to tell their story — their story that had just unfolded on that same awful road that had once scarred, bruised and blistered my own feet. How very privileged, yet nervous I was to have been entrusted with such a monumental task. With God’s help, I pressed on.

And at a reasonable hour of the night, it was complete, ready for her to see — without one glitch. I apprehensively sent her the link and watched the video again as I awaited her response. A fresh batch of tears spilled out onto my desk. How lucky he was to have been so intensely and intentionally loved, held close and cherished literally the span of his entire life. How many can lay claim to this? Each slide personalized the reckless, yet confident love his parents and brothers held for him. A love that threatened to mortally wound their hearts – yet they held fast to it anyway. This baby boy was worthy of THAT kind of love. I prayed that this love was accurately represented in this composition of photographs taken by his family and by photographers who themselves were no stranger to grief. 

She soon texted back that she was beyond pleased with what I had created and expressed such fervent gratitude. Tears of relief mingled with the tears of sorrow, “Thank you, God!!!”

With Kirsten’s permission, and with such love in my heart, I present to you The Treasured Moments and Precious Life of Gavin Mark Reimer ~

In Wait

The merciless ticking of the clock coupled with the fear of the unknown threatened to erode the very core of my being. Methodical and intentional breaths helped keep my head above the crashing waves. It all seems a thousand years ago, and yet only yesterday from where I sit in the corner of this hospital. From outside the window, the silhouette of the towers, concourses and office buildings slowly become visible against the backdrop of the early morning sky. A patterned glow of windows interrupt the darkness, and I contemplate over each one. 


Is that the room where I cradled my newborn birth daughter for the first time? Which was the room where I drew my own first breaths? The rooms where my siblings were born – when I proudly wore my “IM A BIG SISTER” sticker. Which is the window that my Oma looked out of from her hospital bed after she fell and broke her leg? Or the stark room where I spent the night with my sister after her first son was born, waiting for adoption papers, both of us still kids ourselves. This morning one of these rooms holds a mother and a father and a precious baby boy, not yet born. As the sun rises higher in the sky and up over the buildings, I pray for their peace, for visible, tangible evidence of God’s presence — not because of lack of faith, but because we NEED him that close. Inside his mother’s womb, a little baby boy is cradled in pure, unconditional love. He is safe in his cocoon, blissfully unaware of his extra 18th chromosome, and all of the fears and worry that accompany his condition. His only basic primal need is to be loved. He is LOVED.

Father God, I pray Your peace and serenity upon this family. Dispatch your legions of warrior angels to thwart off the attacks of the enemy who looms nearby studying and searching for a way in. There is no room for the enemy in any part of this hospital, Lord. Guard the hearts and minds of this family from any fear and unrest. Help them to keep their focus solely on you. Lord, I pray that your glory will shine forth through the life of this little boy who is so very, very loved. I pray that the decisions involving his care will be made clear and concise, that all of the right people will be in place at the right time. Upon his birth, I pray for this little boy’s strength and stability, that there will be no emergencies that would prevent him from spending time in his parents’ loving embrace. We thank you, Father for the beautiful life of this baby boy. He is fearfully and wonderfully made, perfect in Your loving eyes. We have no idea what is going to unfold today, but You do, Lord. You are in control of each and every little detail, mapping out each of our days. We surrender to Your will, our trust is in You. 

When peace like a river, attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul

Amen.

My Sweet Oma

We walked arm in arm along some transcendental pathway. We laughed, we talked, and there was the love. The love that gripped us to the very core and would never let go. I kept a slower pace, mindful of her injured leg. I commented on how well she seemed to be walking now, and how proud I was of her progress. In her typical style she brushed off the compliment and explained in her thick German accent how she’s not perfect yet – she has some trouble going up hills, but that she’d get there.

And then the dream was over. I turned over in bed to look at the time and to see who had just texted.

“Oma was admitted to the hospital this morning. Her oxygen levels are low and she was very lethargic. Dad is on his way there now. They had called to ask about putting her on a ventilator…” my Mom’s text read.

I sat up in bed, startled by my dream’s contrast with this sudden and unsettling reality. I didn’t know what to say in response. William and the kids were out of town visiting William’s family in Texas. I got ready in the silent house and drove to the hospital because I just didn’t know what else to do. During the 33 minute drive I reflected on the dream. Was that her saying goodbye to me on her way out of here??! No! I pressed the accelerator a little closer to the floor.

So far, there hasn’t been anything Oma couldn’t defeat. Why would this be any different? She had fallen in the shower back in April and had broken her femur. Because of the complicated nature of the break and its close proximity to one of her prosthetic knees – an involved surgery needed to take place. We were all warned of the huge risks involved, mainly concerning her heart. There was a very big chance that she might not have survived that surgery. But she did. She even made it out of the hospital to a rehabilitation facility where she worked so hard to regain her strength so she could get back home. Of course there were a few setbacks along the way, but she hurdled over each one – fighting strong.

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It was impossible for any of us to fully realize the severity of the situation early that morning in the hospital, yet in less than 24 hours she was gone.

We spent that whole day at her bed side. It was discovered later in the morning that she had suffered a stroke at some point in the previous night or early that morning. In all likelihood that is what impaired her ability to communicate with us. While she wasn’t physically able to talk to us, it seemed like she was trying her hardest. There was still a mighty fight in her, but her tired body was not cooperating anymore.

We reassured her that we were there with her, we held her hands, stroked her hair and talked about all the fun times we’d had already. And my sweet Dad… He and my Mom had become Oma’s caretakers over these past few of years. For almost 11 months of those years she had lived with them. However, that day there in the hospital I poignantly witnessed my Dad as Oma’s little boy as he recalled stories about when he was little. “Mama die kaffe is kocht,” he’d tell her in German, his first language. And how she’d obligingly pour a cup of pretend coffee into a pretend cup–the imaginary coffee he had “cooked” on the heat register in his little pewter coffee pot. That instinctual and sacred bond between mother and child – death can never tear that apart. Even though deep in our hearts we realized the end was near, I think we all expected that Oma would pop her eyes open any moment–that we’d again hear her tell us she loves us or suddenly insist that we must be so busy and shouldn’t be “bozzering vis all dis cdrap” (“bothering with all this crap”). She regarded her major, major surgeries and hospital stays as just bothers and inconveniences that must be endured — swatting at gnats. She never EVER wanted to inconvenience anyone.

Her tenacious spirit seemed immortal. For those of us who called her “Oma” or “Mom” there has never been a world in which she didn’t exist. That iconic German accent, her quirky, animated and sometimes blunt personality–she is the leading character in so many memories–emphasis on the word “character”! Sometimes it was just the language / cultural barrier situations that she ended up in that were so hilarious! She came over here from Germany with her husband in 1953 with a toddler and five months pregnant with my Dad. They started off with very little money and not much English either. One story I remember in particular from my Dad is the time Oma went to the beauty parlor maybe back in the sixties. She had been in conversation with the woman styling up her big hair and Oma had apparently shared something astounding with her. The stylist’s response was, “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me, Maria!!” Safe to say that Oma knew what all of those words meant by then, but she had never heard them in that context and was extremely confused. “Vott is dat shuppose to mean??”

The photographs of her sweeping across the dance floor to the tune of some grand waltz with my Opa,

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visits back home to Germany,

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at home with her kids on Stanhope Avenue in their first house,

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in a candid loving moment with her husband, my dear sweet Opa,

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or behind the counter at Koester’s Bakery

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— she always wore that beautiful smile.

Shortly before she broke her leg back in April she had a few more photographs for me to add to the rest of her photos I have been organizing, digitizing and archiving. I asked about this one in particular:

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She shook her head in mock dismay, “Acht! My fdriends tolt me zet dis vas a svimvear pah-tee. Vee vere all schuppose to vear our bazing soots an I vas zee only von. Ohhhh, how vee LAUGHED.” (Her friends invited her to a swimwear party and when she showed up, she was the only one wearing her bathing suit.) Seems that bathing suit debacles run in our family!!!?

Behind her loving, contagious smile and those sparkling eyes was a woman who had witnessed and endured unthinkable circumstances and horrors, especially during WWII in Germany. {We helped her put together her autobiography several years ago: AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MARIA A. KOESTER.} She had every right to be bitter, distrustful and withdrawn — but she chose not to be. I never ever heard her complain or feel sorry for herself. Life didn’t owe her anything. She made the absolute best with what she had and had a blast doing it.

In the day after she passed a great storm had rolled through. We were busy weeding through 88 years of photographs for the slideshow that we would play at her funeral. A strange yellow sky summoned our attention at the window. We were drawn outside and stared up at the peculiar cloud formations cast in an unnatural shade of yellow. We walked barefoot through the wet grass to investigate the bright pink color shining through the trees.

“What is that?”

And then it came into view…

A streak of purple lightening slashed through the sky and across the rainbow taking my breath away. We were awestruck, dumbfounded and overcome with emotion. With each blink the rainbow changed in intensity. I had NEVER seen anything like it in my life — even the clouds — they had a strange blur around edges that gave the illusion that they were out of focus – like a blurry photograph where you can see 2 of the same object. As I took photo after photo my phone began receiving a series of texts. Apparently from where I was standing, I was only seeing a small part of this INCREDIBLE rainbow.

These are from my brother:

And then this one from my friend Tonya:

The one that sent tears spilling down my cheeks – the double rainbow. The two of them, little Nora with her bright and vibrant Oma, playing the harmonica and singing “Hoppe Hoppe, Reiter” or “Klip Klop” together in Eternity. The exquisite timing was absolutely overwhelming. No way I could dismiss or deny these implications.

Maria Koester, my Oma was one beautiful, compassionate, feisty, tender, determined, brave, selfless, mighty, hilarious and extraordinary woman who I am completely and utterly honored to call my Oma. I am eternally grateful for the gift of that one last walk with her, and for that enormous colorful beacon from the heavens, sent to let us know she had arrived safely and that she got her hands on my fat little cherub up there!

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.
(Romans 8:18)

The slideshow from Oma’s funeral:

Two Years

We took turns holding her lifeless, precious body all night long until the sun came up. Caressing her soft skin, stroking her precious fuzzy hair, I tried to memorize every single feature of her dear little face, her dimpled little hands, chubby baby fingers, and fat little toes. Occasionally one of us would recall a funny memory and a lilt of laughter would contradict the intense sorrow that tightly encapsulated the room. “How do we walk away from here? How do we just get in our car, shut the doors and drive home with all of our stuff… and no baby,” I wondered, hours in to clutching her body tightly. Somehow she had lost her exquisitely delicious baby scent, perhaps a biological process of dying, “Maybe it left with her soul? Is that what heaven smells like?” My heart ached for that enchanted baby aroma — still does and always will.

Since that morning of intense and crushing sorrow, our lives have continued on — minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, and now year into year. 

For a few days shy of two years, her little grave had been unmarked. For much of that time I was of the mindset that having “nothing” was better than settling for ordinary. We simply could not find anything that was befitting of such a special baby. About a year or so into image searching for “unique headstones” — I found one that I really liked. Indeed unique, it incorporated bronze accents into the granite. I loved that! It wasn’t EXACTLY what I wanted, but clearly who ever created that headstone had the ability to think outside the box. It was truly a work of art. I clicked on the image, ready to resign myself to the fact that they were in Europe or some far off land, as had been all the others I’d liked. Once redirected to their website, I sat staring in disbelief — Louisville, Kentucky!?!?! Really?!?! If you only knew the number of times I was redirected to a foreign website would you understand my astonishment! This is how I found Joy Monuments

And so now, without further ado, we present to you this gorgeous, distinctive, and very meaningful tribute to our beloved Nora:



Deciding on a headstone for your child is probably one of the saddest things a parent could ever have to do. But I will say that it was truly a “joy” to work with Joy Monuments. They were so patient with us as we tried to make up our minds on what it was that we truly wanted. This was nothing that we could have (or wanted to) pick out of a catalog. The portfolio of this monument company’s extraordinary work indicated to us that there wasn’t much that they weren’t capable of. So for many months we brainstormed and traded ideas back and forth until we finally settled on the perfect design, the perfect stone type and color, the perfect fonts, and the perfect accents while needing to take the cemetery regulations into consideration. 


We had to, of course, feature the “3 Little Birds” who showed up time and time again — before, throughout and after Nora’s life. The 3 little birds with their message pure true, as the song goes, “Don’t worry, about a thing. Cuz every little things gonna be alright.” Our pet house sparrow Ava (1997-2007) served as the model for the 3 little birds. They are created out of bronze, sculpted from pictures we provided of Ava. Each bird also represents a number 7, with there being 7 letters in ‘SPARROW’. The three of them together are the ‘777’ treasured days that Nora was here with us.


The headstone wouldn’t be complete without the asymmetrical, perfectly imperfect heart. The top of the heart is formed by a scripty letter E, for ‘Elanora’ (Nora’s full “fancy name”), E for ‘Eternity’, and E for the high-pitched ‘eeeeeeyeee’ noise that used to elicit a big smile from her sweet little face. The rest of the heart blends into the infinity symbol representing our infinite love, God’s infinite love, and the infinite eternity of heaven.

In anticipation for the day when our time is up on this earth we purchased the plots on either side of Nora. Someday my name and William’s name will be placed on the base of the monument with our respective dates, as we are united together in eternity. One bird in flight (Nora) and the other two birds (her Mom & Dad) perched in waiting with their paths to Eternity clearly marked, etched in stone.

Until then, I’ll be perched right here missing her, remembering her, and thinking about her and the June 3rd that she took flight. The grief is still very heavy. There are days when its weight is agonizing, but it is now just a part of me and I’ve accepted that. There is nothing I would do to be rid of it because it is all that I have left of her. It is the evidence of my love.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
(1 Corinthians 13:13 NIV)

Refocus.

I blinked back a piercing surge of tears as they suddenly wheeled past in a sea of pink balloons and flowers, a tiny pink bundle asleep in her smiling mama’s arms. I stoically held my bleeding, shattered heart together inside my chest and pressed the elevator button. Exactly to the day, four years ago that was us with our new baby. Sweet Nora. I remembered how elated and also how terrified we were to be leaving this very same hospital with a baby that miraculously survived delivery yet “likely won’t live past the week”. But wait!!! We are SO madly in love with her!!!!!!! Doesn’t that count for SOMETHING?!?!??!! I remembered the unstoppable stream of tears that poured down my cheeks soaking my shirt and Nora’s tiny receiving blanket. I remembered the smiles that faded into concerned pity as people passing saw my contradicting tear streaked face. Deep breath, slow exhale. We had so much more than “maybe a week”, I reminded myself. Yes, we were so madly in love with her, and that counted for something. That counted for EVERYTHING. Refocus.We were there at the hospital this evening to visit my Oma (my German “grandma”) who sadly was taken away in an ambulance last Wednesday after she fell and broke her leg at my parents’ house, where she is living. She is 88-years young and has had seen and experienced a myriad of struggles and hardships throughout her brave life. Her insuppressible spunk and willpower combined with the stereotypical German stubbornness has pulled her through each and every battle she’s had to face. This current battle of her broken leg is complicated by the break’s close proximity to one of her prosthetic knees. It will require a delicate and involved surgery with a specific surgeon who specializes in complicated orthopedic cases such as this. The first attempt at surgery was abruptly terminated last Friday because of a cardiac issue that arose after they had put her under anesthesia and positioned her for the operation. She recovered well out of the anesthesia, but in the mean time they have had to figure out what is going on with her heart. The good news is that she did not suffer a heart attack. Surgery was rescheduled for today, but then rescheduled again for this Wednesday to make provisions for specific cardiac anesthesiology to be on hand. Even still, there is a pretty substantial risk involved. Oma could surely use and would most certainly appreciate any and all prayers!  
Oma and I this past Easter

William and I had a nice visit with her today. She is in great spirits, all things considered, and the hospital staff seems to really enjoy caring for her and interacting with her. She is truly, truly a one-of-a-kind character. We prayed over her and I hugged her and kissed her several times before we left. She told me that if something happens tomorrow, she doesn’t want us to be sad. 😭😭😭  I reassured her with a lump in my throat that God is watching over her, and little Norns is too.   William noticed that the hospital campus shows up on my GPS screen in the shape of a heart.

“In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name.”

‭‭(Psalm‬ ‭33:21‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

The Night Before Your Birthday 

  
I remember laying here in this same spot four years ago protected in an otherworldly sanctuary of peace. It was almost ridiculous that I wasn’t curled up on the floor in a puddle of anxiety laced tears. My hand hovered over you on the other side of my skin, savoring each and every one of your little pokes and kicks. I was keenly aware that those sweet flutters could very well be some of the last experiences we had together on this earth, but I was blissfully unable to be bothered or upset by that. Oh, the legions of warrior angels that must have been standing guard around us, protecting our gift of serenity with all their might. A grand adventure was about to unfold! There was no time to be wasted or stolen with lies.

There are the days when the pain of being without you is excruciating. I want and crave nothing more than to sniff you and kiss you, stroke your sweet cheeks and nibble on your knee muffins and your little elf ear. You were (and still are) such a huge gift. Tomorrow is the anniversary of a HAPPY day. Even though you won’t be here with us in the sweet “stinky” flesh to celebrate with us, I don’t want the beauty of your LIFE to be tarnished with the sadness of your death. (***ADD moment: Is it weird that a song called “Life and Death” is playing on Pandora right now?!???!***) So warrior angels? If you follow this blog and you’re reading this right now, will you please keep a watchful eye over us as you did so efficiently those four years ago? 

You brought unfathomable love and joy into our lives, Nora. I am eternally grateful for our statisic-defying 777 days together and the absolute privilege of having you as my daughter. Although we are apart for now, you are still very close in my heart and ever on my mind. Tomorrow we will celebrate you with cake, ice cream, sparkles and balloons and of course your favorite song “Happy Birthday”. We certainly won’t sound as beautiful as the angels, but we’ll do our very best!

Happy, beautiful birthday, sweet Lady Baby!

“In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”‭‭(1 Peter‬ ‭1:6-7‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

Merry Christmas!

*tap*tap*tap* Is this thing on?

My natural inclination is to apologize for my lack of regular postings, but I know that most of you who still read this blog understand that it probably doesn’t come so easy anymore. No, I will admit — it doesn’t. Half the time I just don’t have anything to say, the other half of the time I don’t have anything nice to say, so I don’t say anything at all.

In case you missed it, I was featured in an article in the Cincinnati Enquirer! I feel that the author and photographer/videographer did a wonderful job in depicting my story / Nora’s story. They had interviewed me for this almost a year ago, and I figured they decided not to run the story, which was no big deal. I was pleasantly surprised to get a call from  Chrissie Thompson the Friday before it went to print. She called to give me a heads up, and to read the article to me over the phone since she couldn’t send it. Here’s the link:

Abortion: The Most Important Decision of Her Life

Since it is now Christmas Eve, I will publicly unveil this year’s Christmas card while simultaneously wishing each of you a very Merry  Christmas and happy holiday season!

Print
We’ve got Lady Baby always on our minds and like to imagine her up in heaven doing all sorts of sweet and silly things. If it were to actually snow here, how funny to think of her helping to cut out snow flakes and tossing them down to us. Then of course the implication that Starbucks was trying to cancel Christmas this year by dispensing plain red cups. LOL. Hmm… Wayyyy too many other things to focus attention and energy on. Just LOVE, for the LOVE!

I had some help from Greta this year. This little drawing was part of her Christmas wish list and it made us smile, so we had to share it:

manger scene

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If you usually receive a card from us and you haven’t received one yet, perhaps it will get to you in March. Which leads me to my next segment…

Things I’ve Learned in 2015

Last year’s tree of knowledge blossomed with the acrid aroma of garlic when I unknowingly substituted 3 garlic BULBS for 3 garlic CLOVES. I nearly asphyxiated my family and ruined our kitchen and adjoining rooms in the process, but NOW I KNOW.

And now on to 2015’s lesson(s) …

This year I was curious as to why I hadn’t heard a single feedback on my Christmas card many days after I had sent it out. Was it too over the top? Is it really bad, and no one likes it?? Did it make everyone sad?? At least my MOM would have said something?? Right? 😬

Turns out they weren’t being delivered. How could this be?? Slightly panicked, I began brainstorming on what the problem might be. This is when I stumbled upon a wellspring of information from offbeatbride’s site. Of course at this point, I had already addressed my DARK GRAY envelopes with METALLIC ink, stamped them and dropped them into the abyss of the big blue mail receptacle: 

Nooooooo!!!!

I had gone through such great lengths to get the envelopes ordered on time, the card design completed and sent off to the printer only slightly last minute…

I was all

 

Thanks for this hilarious visual, Melanie!!! 

When I might as well have been all

 about it.

Very slowly but surely, people are receiving them.  *Sigh of relief… * Just might not be before Christmas.

My other big lesson happened on an otherwise fabulous trip to Chicago just before Thanksgiving this year. William and I headed off to the Windy City for a long weekend with a couple of dear friends of ours and no kids. Hotel accommodations were made, restaurant reservations placed well ahead of time, Uber app downloaded and configured, proper attire carefully selected and methodically packed… Except… My bathing suit! … D*mn it! Oh well. I just won’t go swimming. Simple enough.

Fast forward to Saturday when William and I were walking through clods of snow in 19 degrees outside of the art museum trying to figure out the Uber app in real life. In real freezing cold life. Once back to the hotel, nothing sounded better than to immerse myself in the scalding, steaming, bubbly, soothing whirlpool. As swimwear is not exactly in peak season in Chicago at this time, I had 2 options:

1) A $265.00, ugly at best, string bikini that was left over from the summer, now tucked away in the back corner at Bloomingdales.

or

2.) A $7 disposable bathing suit enthusiastically  presented to us by a member of the hotel spa staff:

… “They’re inexpensive enough…”

The first big warning sign that I should have just left well enough alone was the fact that they only had one size left:

“It will be just fine,” she reassured me, “There is a ton of elastic in it. It will fit you!”

“Pleeeeeease???” my frozen feet pleaded.

After a 4 second span of undecided silence, I caved. What the heck… Why not. YOLO!

William handed over $7 in exchange for the “Dipster” package.

The kind young girl showed me around the locker room and gave me instructions on how to use the locker key pads, and then left me to make a complete ass out of myself from this point forward.

I looked around in vain for some sort of changing rooms, or a curtain… SOMETHING. I’m not the type of person who treats a public locker room like my own personal rowdy Las Vegas strip club. That’s fine if that’s your thing and you don’t mind letting it all hang out in front of complete strangers. Just WAY out of my comfort zone, is all I’m sayin. This was my second sign that swimming REALLY wasn’t that big of a deal. Just go back to the hotel room, for the love!!!!! But no. William was already probably waiting for me out in the pool area. I’ll just HURRY UP and change as fast as I can, I thought to myself.

Well, of course, as soon as I’m standing there in nothing but black socks, fumbling with this stupid plastic packaging — like 7 people come barging in. And then some girl starts putting on makeup, and brushing her hair in the mirror directly behind me and totally invading my 700 foot radius I have claimed as personal space based on my current state of clothelessness. My hot red face certainly wasn’t cold anymore!!

I finally got the disposable / reusable contraption on and followed the arrowed signs that read “POOL”. Sure enough, on my way to the pool — there is the neat and tidy row of dressing rooms that everyone else had the courtesy and decency to use. Except me. In my disposable bathing suit. (Oooooh!! Just go back to the room!!!!!!)

Enter pool room and there is my husband reposed and simmering in the whirlpool with a bemused expression on his face. Other people also in the whirlpool are looking at me like:

At the point of no return, I forced an anxiety-ridden smile and exclaimed, “Tah Dah!!!” (jazz hands)

I proceeded to make my way into the disappointingly lukewarm whirlpool. Maybe if I close my eyes really tight they can’t see me…. Aaaaaaarrrrgh!! D*mn it!!!!!!

Finally, enough was enough. I was going to get out and dry off, and go straight back to the room. So I stood up and started up the concrete steps only to discover that this durable, tear resistant Tyvek® from DuPont fabric was the equivalent of trying to lift a garbage bag full of water out of a pool. The entire body of water was now collected in this bathing suit. “Pardon me while I empty my bathing suit back into your whirlpool! You’re welcome, bye!!!”

I grabbed a complimentary robe from the locker room, hurriedly stuffed my clothes into my purse and stoically made my way back to our room where I stood there trying to assess what had just happened…

Wondering why swimming / whirlpooling had been THAT important. There it is, people. The lovely inexpensive / reusable bathing suit, in case you have a hankering to make a complete fool of yourself a second or third time or more! I may have saved $258, but certainly didn’t spare any dignity what so ever. Oh well. It’s hilarious in hind sight — no pun intended.

Merry Christmas! 😂💗💕