101 Things I Miss

Our 7 1/2 blissful years with you provided countless memories...so I'm listing just 101 of the things I miss most about you, Duke. 

1. How you chewed through EVERYTHING as a puppy...but you especially liked remote controls.
2. Slobbery puppy kisses
3. Having to spell words you knew like "W-A-L-K and P-A-R-K and F-R-I-S-B-E-E"
4. How hard you pulled on your leash no matter what we tried...you were always so excited
5. Rubbing your head on the floor or couch and the silly groans you made while you did it
6. Meeting us at the back door every day
7. Having to come home early from an anniversary get-away because you were so lonely and stressed out at doggy daycare
8. Leaps off the end of the dock at the lake
9. How you stole Segen's stuffed animals and carried them as far back in your mouth as you could possibly shove them
10. Endless rounds of Frisbee
11. How you re-rip rapped the shoreline at the lake by dragging all the rocks in with your front paws
12. Nibbling our socks off with your front teeth
13. Your snoring
14. Trying to find room in our bed with your massive 120 pound body
15. The clicking of your nails on our hardwood floors
16. How patient you were with the tail and hair pulls of little ones
17. Your deep, intimidating bark
18. Your human-like brown eyes and super expressive eyebrows
19. Trying to get you to stop licking the couch!
20. All of your fur around the house...I don't want to vacuum the last of it away
21. The sound of your ears flopping before you descended the stairs EVERY morning
22. How you hated cats
23. Watching you chase squirrels across the top of our fence in the back yard
24. Seeing you at the back of the truck on road trips
25. Giving you rawhide bones with gobs of peanut butter
26. You whining to go outside just to turn around and want to come in for a treat
27. How tidy you were...very careful not to pee on your paws, and when you did, how disappointed you were in yourself
28. Watching you run up and down the giant mound of snow across the street...which we lovingly named "Monkey Mountain"
29. All of your nicknames: Monkey, Stinky, Dukie, Monkers, Dukers
30. Watching you run in your sleep
31. How protective you were of your little brother and sister
32. Walks on warm summer nights...just the two of us
33. How you made me feel really safe
34. How everyone that saw you said: "WOW! That's a big, beautiful dog! Is he part horse?"
35. How you loved little dogs
36. How you thought your 120 pound body still allowed you to be a lap dog
37. Sharing ice cream with you
38. How you took the garbage out to the curb with me every Monday night
39. Seeing you peek through the gate when we pulled up in the driveway
40. When you went out to get the mail with me
41. Daddy feeding you off of his own fork
42. Finding tennis balls (and an occasional softball) when running by the courts
43. Long walks across the college campus and by the duck pond
44. You being afraid of my breast pump
45. Seeing the imprint of your giant body on the part of the couch you claimed as yours
46. Saying "Goodbye, Buddy!  We'll be right back!" every time I walk out the door
47. Filling your water dish 10 times a day
48. How loudly you lapped water from your dish
49. Your birthday parties and making you homemade birthday carrot cakes
50. How much you loved fruit and veggies...especially cantaloupe and carrots
51. Changing your collars to match each season
52. "Dog Shows" with daddy
53. Picking you up from doggy daycare and how you were so excited, you crashed into the gate with your enormous paws...every time
54.Your head resting on my pregnant belly
55. How you practically mauled us and jumped all over us with excitement at the mention of a walk
56. Watching you try to bark under the water at the lake
57. Pontoon rides with you at the helm
58. How you stole all of the balls from Segen's ball pit
59. How you looked so sad whenever you saw me cry
60. Your giant paw prints in the new snow
61. Taking your picture by the Christmas tree every year
62. How you barked at the pizza delivery guy
63. How incredibly STRONG you were
64. All of your scars from the surgeries you endured
65. Rubbing my forehead against the top of your head
66. The smell of your ears and your paws
67. How you would wedge your giant body between daddy and I when he gave me hugs (you always protected your mommy!)
68. How you loved to eat sticks
69. How you always managed to find giant branches and insist on carrying them around
70. How patient you were when we tried to dress you in human clothes
71. You running around in your big blue winter coat
72. You laying under our dinner table
73. How you loved to drink from our bathroom faucet
74. How you sniffed and licked the tile in our shower
75. Your wading pool in our back yard (which you so kindly shared with your brother!)
76. Sitting on the porch with you and watching the cars drive by
77. Seeing you in the back yard when I stand at the sink
78. How your tail would whap the walls of the entry way when we came home
79. How your tail would flip-flop when we approached you on the couch
80. How everyone that met you, instantly loved you
81. How you could snap a fly out of mid-air
82. How you thought you were human
83. Your gentle spirit
84. How you loved us no matter how crabby we were
85. Watching you play tug-of-war with your brother Rex
86. The goofy noise you made when you yawned
87. Your cold, wet nose sniffing in my ear
88. How you loved to eat snow
89.Your bright, white teeth and smile
90. How you whapped your nose on the ground every time you sneezed
91. How much you hated when I had to clean your ears
92. Tossing snacks and watching you grab them out of the air
93. Your nose whistling
94. How you waited at the back steps and let me wipe your paws before coming in the house
95. How you like your butt scratched
96. All the intense sessions of fur brushing and the mess that it made
97. How you hated toys with squeakers...and tore all the stuffing from them to find and destroy it!
98. Cooking you hamburger and rice when you had a sick tummy
99. How you always found new ways to make me laugh
100. The bald spot on your belly
101. How you stood faithful to the very end...showing us your love and trust even in the very last moments of your life

"...Grieve not, nor speak of me with tears, but laugh and talk of me as if I were beside you...I loved you so, 'twas Heaven here with you."

-Isla Paschal Richardson

In Loving Memory of Our Duke

July 2nd, 2004-March 3rd, 2012

Saying Goodbye

Maybe non-pet owners won't understand our sadness...but anyone who has ever loved a dog (or animal of any sort, really) know that they quickly become one of the family. The gaping hole that will be left when we have to say the final goodbyes to our "first-born son" makes me have to hold back big, gasping sobs. 

Our beloved 7 year-old Duke was diagnosed with an agressive form of canine bone cancer (an osteosarcoma at his right front ankle joint) in early January of this year.  For the time being, he is at home with us and on pain meds to keep him comfortable.  His limp gets more noticible every day and he doesn't attempt the stairs much any more.  His days of running and frisbee are over.  We may have just a few short days left to enjoy his big brown eyes and slobbery puppy kisses.  It is obvious that he's aware he's hurting and it breaks my heart. 

Would you please keep us in your thoughts and prayers as we grieve the inevitable loss of this vital part of our family? I really can't imagine our family without him.

Part of the Journey

"Even the saddest things can become, once we have made peace with them, a source of
wisdom and strength for the journey that still lies ahead." 

-F. Buechner

Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. 

 Now I know in part; then I shall know fully...

I Corinthians 13:12

May 16, 2008

Love you forever.

Of Love and Loss

Still fresh in my mind, even two years later...our sweet Baby Faith's unfufilled due date.

Love you, miss you...and so excited that we will hold you one day.

Mommy and Daddy

12.15.08

Two Years Ago Today...

I Will Carry You
~Selah

There were photographs I wanted to take
Things I wanted to show you
Sing sweet lullabies, wipe your teary eyes
Who could love you like this?

People say that I am brave but I’m not
Truth is I’m barely hanging on
But there’s a greater story
Written long before me
Because He loves you like this

So I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All my life
And I will praise the One Who’s chosen me
To carry you

Such a short time
Such a long road
All this madness
But I know
That the silence
Has brought me to His voice
And He says…

I’ve shown her photographs of time beginning
Walked her through the parted seas
Angel lullabies, no more teary eyes
Who could love her like this?

I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All your life
And I will praise the One Who’s chosen Me
To carry you

Mommy will love you forever, sweet baby.
5.16.2008

Remembering...Baby Faith

An unfulfilled due date...one year come and gone. Oh, how our hearts ache for you baby Faith.


How softly you tiptoed
Into our world
Almost silently
And only a moment you stayed
But what an imprint
Your footsteps have left
Upon our hearts.


Never Forgotten.

Love You Forever,
Mommy and Daddy



Thank you to Carly for her beautiful website "To Write Their Names in the Sand."

May 16th, 2008

One year later.

Life has changed in very profound ways over the past year. But the empty space created here in my heart when you left us too soon still remains the same. I'm reminded of you as I prepare your brother's nursery...folding tiny little clothes and socks that could have been placed on your feet...filling picture frames that could have been occupied with your tiny smiles...and I cry. I cry not because you are "lost." I cry because I miss you. I often selfishly wish that it was me and your daddy who were holding you, but I know that your Heavenly Father is holding you in His perfect embrace. I know that one day, we will see you again.

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: A time to weep, a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
Ecclesiastes 3:1,4.

Mommy will love you forever.
5.16.2008

Is This Your First?

Atlantic Beach, North Carolina March 1999

The question seems so innocent. So innocuous. I think I had three different individuals ask me today alone. And yet those who spy my ever-expanding belly and unknowingly and if "this is my first child" open a door to a million different emotions and a guilt I never thought I'd feel about a baby that I never held in my arms.

How do you answer a question like this when you're a baby-loss mama? I'm not so sure it would be socially acceptable to answer: "No, but this will be my first living child." Every time I answer with a simple "Yes," I feel like a traitor. I feel like I'm denying all that could have been and the precious lives that are still MY BABIES, just not here on earth, the way I had always planned.

As I mentally prepare for the one year anniversary of the loss of our precious little baby, and simultaneously prepare for the birth of our first son, I'm wrapped in grief and with gripped with anxious excitement, and I'm not sure I know how to process these conflicting emotions all at once.

How about you baby-loss mamas? How do you answer this loaded question? I know it’s not said to be cruel or malicious, but I don’t want to deny the very real life that could have been, and still is my baby…no matter if he/she lives in my arms or only in my heart.

Life is eternal, and love is immortal,
and death is only a horizon;
and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.

~Rossiter Worthington Raymond

Letting It All Sink-In

Lately, I've been struggling with the reality of this pregnancy and allowing myself to let go of all the fears that have been camped-out in the back of my mind for almost a year now. I marvel at the changes I see in my body and the increasing strength of the movement I feel in my belly, but I'm still terrified when I don't feel the little guy move for a few hours and with every muscle twinge or cramp. I have allowed myself moments of normalcy...removing wallpaper from the soon-to-be nursery, choosing a color to go on the walls and making plans for where all the furniture will be placed. I even mustered the courage to order his crib last week.

But then there are moments that still bring me back to all of the uncertainty that remains. I found myself venturing into the baby section to look at baby clothes and supplies while on a recent shopping trip, but I froze. Gripped by this ugly fear that creeps in every now and then. Completely unable to pick anything up and put it in my basket. My mind is telling me there are still too many unknowns. It didn't feel right to pick-out little t's and bibs, socks or bedding because what if...

And so I wait and I pray that the fear that tiptoes into my consiousness can be overcome by the intense love I hold in my heart for our precious baby boy. Our son.

A Perfect Fit

I have to pinch myself when I realized that we’ve arrived safely at 12 weeks and 4 days…just a few short days away from jumping headlong into trimester number two! There’s been a vast array of emotions running through my mind the past few weeks. I’ve distanced myself a bit from the blogosphere because of all the memories the pages hold. We’re rapidly approaching the unfulfilled due date of our little one. December 15th. It’s very difficult to deal with both absolute joy and utter devastation all at the same time. How do you mourn what could have been, but not lose sight of what is yet to be? It’s a balancing act I’ve yet to master.

And who said the magic week for nausea to go away is 12?! They lied! I’m still getting once-a-week B6 shots, but at my appointment on Tuesday, new (fabulous) Dr. OB said that it’s best to gradually decrease the frequency of shots because women often get “rebound” nausea if they go cold turkey with the injections. Super duper! I’m really looking forward to a reprieve from the sensation of having a never-ending hangover!

Tuesday of this week was our first meeting with new Dr. OB. (From here on out we'll call him Dr. Super.man). The clinic where he practices is much smaller than where I was initially seen, but the people there are wonderful. My appointment was at the very end of the day when tempers and patience can be in short supply, but I didn’t find any of that to be true at this office. After a short wait in the exam room…completely clothed this time…jovial Dr. Super.man entered the room, apologized for our wait (wow!) and started ticking through his protocol for treatment during pregnancy. Once he had finished, he looked at me and said, “So does this sound like we’re on the same page?” After I picked my jaw off the ground, I think I nodded yes. He’s on-board with taking the precautions that I’d like to take but at the same time he doesn’t want me to get stuck with my “labels” as the Factor V pregnant lady, or the freak with the uterine anomaly. I feel like I’m in very competent hands. We chatted more about my unanswered questions, got a quick look at the jumping bean and his/her beautiful heartbeat and left the office about an hour later flooded with a complete sense of relief. My mom, my faithful prayer warrior, cried when I told her how the appointment had gone. Totally a God thing.

After our doctor visit and some research of my own, I also decided to cancel my appointment for the nuchal translucency screening. The more research that I did, the more apprehensive I became. There appears to be lots of opportunity for false positives on this screen and that would necessitate additional diagnostic testing like an amniocentesis. Because of my blood clotting disorder, there’s even more risk of miscarriage associated with any invasive test…especially ones that involve the chance of unknowingly hitting a tiny capillary with a needle (amnio). And ultimately, we wouldn't ever terminate a pregnancy even if a Down's test was positive. I thought giving up this control would freak me out, but strangely, I’m at peace with the decision.

I’ll end my rambling here, but before I sign-off, I have to give shout-outs (and huge hugs!) to my fellow MA’ers (Mullerian Anomaly) Sara and Meredith on the birth of there precious little ones. Hearing their happy endings gives me so much hope!

Memories and Grief

I opened the closet. Yes, the very closet I talked about here. And in doing so, forced myself to revisit many, many sad memories. Tucked away neatly in a plastic bin, sat all of the books on pregnancy, my unworn maternity clothes, the binder I received from the OB's office at my first pre-natal visit in April, the cute little ultrasound frame, the lullaby CD's and a million suppressed emotions. I picked-up the book with the beautiful in-utero pictures of "what your baby looks like now" and I cried. Gut-wrenching sobs. And it was then I realized that nothing about this new pregnancy has lessened the sadness about my loss in May.

I didn't expect for this wave of emotions to completely level me like they did. I thought I had processed and compartmentalized our loss, and that this pregnancy would be fresh, new and uncomplicated. Boy...was I wrong.

It's Go Time!

Do you see what I see?

How about now?



Alright body. Listen up. It's game-on. There's no doubt that I'm fighting for this baby.

Ready or Not...

I apologize for the lapse in posting and commenting. We've been getting busy...ummm...I mean busy at our household this weekend! Currently on CD 17 and husband is loving my new-found passion for intimacy. I feel guilty that it has taken my pursuit of baby to initiate intimacy with him. I have no excuse NOT to make time for him now! Does anyone else struggle with feelings of guilt about intimacy when TTC?

On Saturday morning, I participated in a 5K called "A Walk for Hope" to raise adoption awareness. I walked the 3.2 miles with my mom, my sister and my adorable 2 year-old nephew. It was a great event to raise money for a couple (my sister teaches with the wife) who is unable to have children of their own. Early in life, the husband had to undergo a double lung transplant and has been on anti-rejection medications that affect his fertility. This woman married a man she knew would never be able to get her pregnant. She is only 25 years old. Wow. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my husband, but I'm not sure I could do that. The biological drive to create life is such a strong thing! They both have a heart for international adoption, and have chosen to adopt from Ethiopia. The walk made me begin to question my views of growing our family through adoption. Up to this point, C. and I have casually discussed the topic, but determined that we want to pursue creating our own family for a few more years before considering adoption or surrogacy. After talking with other couples who are in the process of adopting, or have adopted, my heart has been opened to the possibility. More on that in days to come.

And finally, some closure about my miscarriage which occurred in May, yes May. I requested my pathology reports from the D and C months and months ago, and just when I had almost forgotten about even asking for them, they arrived in the mailbox Friday afternoon. Just two plain white pieces of printer paper, titled with "products of conception." Not...was a baby, could have been a baby, no embryo or the like. But a "product." It brought me rushing back to that moment all over again. I was almost tempted for a moment to tell C. that I wasn't ready to try again. (Even though it's likely too late to stop that train.) The awful feeling of dread that rushed over me the morning of May 16th crept back into my heart. What if my body is just going to reject any future pregnancy like it did before? What if I'm opening my heart just to have it crushed into a million little pieces all over again? Am I really ready to dive in? Are you ever really prepared to dive in after loss and disappointment? Can I trust my body? For that matter, am I ready to surrender my fears and give control to the One who knows our heart's desires? After some crying, some soul-searching and some prayer, I think I can say...yes. I'm going to do this. We're going to do this...ready or not.

No Time To Say Goodbye

This has been a trying week...just capped-off by two bits of really sad news.

My dear friend Kerry, who was diagnosed with Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome last fall after her second miscarriage, has just suffered another loss. I am so sad for her. She was following new protocol: blood thinners and IVIg treatments, and was really hopeful that this would be the one. This miscarriage was also taxing on her body. The hospital did a CAT scan because they feared she had a blood clot in her brain or spinal meningitis from the IVIg infusion. (scary!) We love you Ker, and we're praying for answers for you...soon.

Second, our dear little Rex, has been shipped-off to a farm in South Dakota. I'm still in shock. We didn't even get to say goodbye. C. and I knew that my sister and her husband were feeling a bit overwhelmed with the prospect of soon having two kids under the age of 3 along with a hyper-active doggy to care for. They mentioned they may look for a different home for Rex back in March, but we hadn't heard any more on the topic since then. I was informed of his departure via this note left in our mailbox when I came home from work today:

I was certain he had been killed. Why else would someone leave a message like this?! I frantically called my sister (no answer) my mom (no clue what the note meant) and then my BIL. He reassured me that Rex was not dead, but he went on to explain that Rex left earlier this afternoon (what?!). He said I could call and talk with sis, but she was pretty "emotional" because she's "knocked-up." Ummm...yeah...I'm holding back sobs here too buddy. We WOULD have been Rex's family. Heck, we WERE his family for a whole year while my sis and bil lived in an apartment that didn't allow pets. I want to understand. I'm trying to understand. And I'm so tired of facing loss.

So I've decided that this post is dedicated to all of those who have left our lives before we even got a chance to say goodbye.

Is There Always Hope?

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to attend the funeral today. C. was fine with me skipping-out. He actually said he didn’t want me to go. I think he senses how emotionally fragile I am right now. I know he catches me tearing-up while watching emotionally-charged TV shows like Hop.kins and Inter.vention (two of my current favorites). C. asked me this morning: “What do you say at a funeral like this?” I had no response. In my opinion, there is always hope of redemption...even after suicide. C.’s cousin (G.) had struggled with depression and substance abuse for years. I think the last straw was his wife filing for divorce and taking their two children back home to live with her parents. My heart aches for those kids. My heart aches for the hopelessness that G. must have felt.

As I mentioned in my previous post, AF made her appearance on Tuesday night. So bright and early on Wednesday morning I called the RE’s office and was scheduled for my saline sonogram next Wednesday the 13th. Surprisingly, I think that the diagnosis of my Mullerian anomaly has taken a back seat to all of the immune and blood testing that I’m going to be subjected to in September when I see the hematologist. I’m not even sure the RE is going to suggest that we actively try to get pregnant until after our consult with Dr. K. The prospect of waiting until October or November (or longer) to start TTC is really defeating. I hate wishing-away time. I want to learn to live in and for today…but is that ever really attainable? How do you learn to change your focus from the long term to the short term when you're taught all your life to focus on the "big picture"...? Is there a way to balance the two mentalities?

At the party last Saturday night, all of the “girls” were talking about their kids, and inevitably asked if C. and I had any of our own. When I replied “not yet,” I got this response: “Ahhhh…why not?! C. would be such a good daddy!” I wanted to reply: “Yup. I know. Thanks for making me feel even more inadequate as a wife.” I swear. I’m going to write a book on babyloss etiquette.

It seems like almost every blog I faithfully follow has been graced with a pregnancy lately. I’m trying to be excited for the new mommies-to-be, but it’s beyond difficult when infertility and tests and the unknown surround me every day like a big dark blanket. I want to cover my head and cry and emerge when this all has passed.

We're headed-back to the lake this weekend for a get-together with my side of the family. It's going to be really difficult not to be jealous of my sister's adorable, round, pregnant belly. She's one of the cute, non-puffy preggers mommies. I can't help but think we could have been pregnant at the same time. We should have had babies within months of one another. Can you tell I'm in a funk right now?

Finally, I'd like to send some love over to Nity at I Believe In Miracles. She's been such a faithful blogger buddy and she'll be taking "the test" this weekend.

Finding My Sunshine

I’ve been called-out. And it was by my eternally-supportive husband, of all people.

I just received news that another fertility un-challenged college friend of mine gave birth to a healthy, happy, 7 pound baby girl last Wednesday. Baby M. was perfect in every way. The pregnancy was perfect. The birth was perfect. The nursery prepared for her at home is perfect. When I passed-along the news to my husband, I relayed all the details I knew he’d be interested in…weight, time of day born…and then I concluded my summary by telling him that I was trying to be happy for her and I think I even snuck a “La-Di-Freakin’-Dah!” in just for effect. C. glanced over at me and just said “wow,” but at the same time, gave me a look that said: “Who are you cynical, disparaging woman and what have you done with my content, upbeat, ever-optimistic wife!” As much as I don’t want to admit it, “the look” was a (painful) reality-check and a much-needed reminder. As sad as I am about the roadblocks that we’ve faced in the past four months, I need to remember to give thanks for all that we have been blessed with in our lives (which really is a huge list of things/people!). But it’s really, really difficult to acknowledge what we have been given when we’ve suppressed hurt for so long, isn’t it?

If any one of my blog readers were to meet me in-person, I don’t think they would believe I’m the same individual that wrote last week’s posts. I’ve become very efficient at locking-up all of the icky, unpleasant, sad thoughts and feelings away deep inside where no one can see them. I put on a smiling face when socially necessary, and I love to make people laugh…even if it’s at my own expense. Maybe it stems from the fact that I grew up in a small, Christian, Midwestern household that taught us to “smile and pretend like everything is OK,” regardless of life’s circumstances. We were pros at laughing-off conflict and simply avoided conversation about anything that may be emotionally distressing. Sad feelings hurt too much, and the best solution was to ignore and repress. And it worked swimmingly…for the first 20 year of my life!

I don’t want to be a cynic. I want to be happy for friends, family and co-workers that seem to be procreating at a frenzied pace right now! I particularly want to be able to hold it together when my sister has her baby this fall. I want to feel whole even if I don’t have a baby in my arms for the next year…ten years…or ever. Is this attainable?! I'd really like to find my sunshine.

Finally, I want to send-out a heartfelt thank you to everyone who visited and left comments via the Lost and Found page. Your kind remarks and words of encouragement mean so much. You each are in my thoughts on a daily basis.

Dead Roses and Mother's Day

I was pregnant on Mother’s Day 2008 and C. bought me a beautiful bouquet of red roses. He wrote a cute note on the card and signed it “Love Husband, Duke and Baby.”

At my 10-week appointment with our PCP on May 16th--the day we lost our baby, she asked if I had enjoyed my first Mother’s Day. I grinned and told her that C. had bought me roses. She smiled and patted him on the back. After our return visit to her office that day, (see: What We Have Here...) she sent us on our way, and had the to nerve to say: “At least you had a nice Mother’s Day.” Are you kidding me?! What the hell does that mean?! Sure. The fact that I had a nice Mother's Day makes the reality that our baby, along with all the hopes and dreams that we had for him/her died, all better. Thanks doc.

The funny thing is, those roses never really turned brown. They stood tall and beautifully in bloom for almost two weeks, and then, the morning after my second D & C, I noticed that they had turned a deep maroon-black hue. How perfect. Baby gone. First (only?) Mother’s Day come and gone. And now I have black roses.

According to my beloved internet friend Wiki, “In the 19th century, the language of flowers became popular. In this code, black roses signified death, or hatred. But it really meant farewell and overcoming of a long, hard journey. They were often used at funerals. A single black rose might be sent by a close friend and or loved one leaving for a war or on a journey from which he did not expect to return.”

So I guess I’m going on a journey that I’m not expecting to return from. That’s great. I’m not sure why I find symbolism in everything now. I guess it’s my way of attempting to find meaning in life’s circumstances. All I know is that I don’t want to receive roses of any kind for a really long time, and I definitely have no desire to see my PCP ever again.