The Journey Into 2015

In just a half hour, we will be stepping into the new year.  I could kick 2014 in the pants and say 'good riddance', but I'm not sure it will work that way.  I also should be sitting here mapping out some goals for 2015, but I'm not doing that either.  I do know that my health needs a swift kick in the pants.  I miss running.  A lot.  Even Jay has asked me recently why I'm not running any more.

So much has changed in our lives this year and as we head into 2015, things will continue to change.  I'm coming up on 20...yes TWENTY years out of high school in 2015.  I have accomplished more than I ever imagined in 20 years.  I've also had some of the worst heartache in 20 years too.

This one thing I know about losing my child...I'd go through just about anything 10 times over if it meant not experiencing the pain of losing her.

In 6 days, it will have been 8 months since Cora left this earth *and my dear sister's birthday*.  In 10 days, I will have an 8 year old.  In 17 days, I will have a 12 year old.  In 2 months and 18 days, I would have had a 5 year old.

In all honesty, I don't want to go into a new year without my Cora.  I don't like spending day after day without her.  I don't want to think about birthdays anymore.  Birthdays just mean that we're all getting older and she's not.  I don't like thinking about another holiday without her.  They have come and gone so quickly that I wish that they could last a bit longer.  Or that I could have a re-do.

I do have some hopes for the new year.  I hope that there is abundant joy, laughter and love.  I hope that there will be new beginnings.  I hope that there is peace in my heart.  I hope for contentment. I hope for forgiveness.  I hope for growth...in who I am and who I want to become.

For those of you that read this, I hope that 2015 brings you all contentment in the little things, joy in the unexpected, and peace through the difficult times.

Being A Mom

When I first found out I was going to become a mom for the first time, I was shocked and scared.

I had done some babysitting off and on, but mainly with older children.  I did babysit for a family who used cloth diapers and that was a fun experience trying to get the pin in without poking the poor kiddo.  Then when I stood him up...yeah...the diaper didn't stay on.

The whole baby thing?  It was completely foreign to me.  Diapers, clothing a docile squirming baby, feeding a baby...I was going to be flying by the seat of my pants!  There was *and is* no 'owners manual' for babies.

You can plan for baby until you're blue *or pink* in the face, but life tends to throw curve balls at you left and right.

I'm going to have my baby the 'right' way and I'm totally having an epidural.

Nope!  Guess again!  Your baby is breech and you'll be having a c-section. 

I'm going to nurse my baby.  This breast feeding thing is a piece of cake, right?

Nope!  Guess again!  Here's a bottle for your baby.

I think when you get used to things not following your 'plan', you start to just let go a little.  Or at least, I did.  I let my kid get dirty.  I wasn't overly protective.

A few years passed and it was time to potty train.  Yet another fun adventure in the life of a mom.  You can get advice from other people, but often...you just wing it.  And somewhere in the process, you end up being pregnant with baby #2.

By the time you have baby #2, you feel very much like a pro.  You've been there and done that already.  You know what to expect.  For me, I knew that another c-section was on my horizon.  I was going to give breast feeding another go.  I was prepared this time!

Some things seem easier with baby #2.  Potty training?  Far easier with #2 than with #1.

Then at some point, you decide to have #3.  While you were sick with #2...you're beyond sick with #3.  Doctor visits, hospital stays, home hydration...OH MY!  I already knew a c-section was again in the wings.  Again...old hat.  I pulled out the punches and went cloth diapers with #3.  We tried breast feeding again and well...it wasn't meant to be.

Along the way, you tweak things.  You try things and when it doesn't work...you try something else.  You use mom-tuition.  You care for your babies.  You'd do just about anything for them.  You read to them, you sing to them, you teach them to recognize their name, recognize their colors, count, pick up, help around the house, and nurture them in every way.

Cora.  She loved to help her momma.  She liked to dump the laundry soap in the washing machine.  She like to push the drawer in on the washing machine.  She liked to push the start button on the washing machine.  She wanted to take the lint fluffy from the dryer to the trash.  She put the wet clothes into the dryer.  She pressed the start button on the dryer. She tried to fold clothes.  She put her own clothes away.

By the time you've had #3, you have been outnumbered for several years.  Life seems to just carry on.  You feed them nutritious meals, wash their clothes, take them outside to play...you know...all of those 'typical' life things for children.

And just by doing what you feel is right for your children, people say that you're a good mom.  As a part of being a 'good mom', you also think that you have somehow ruined them for life.

Then when life hands you a round that is far from expected, you lose all sense of self.  You question everything about who you are and how you are raising your children.  You question your very core.  And yet, life moves on.  Your children continue to grow.  You continue to get up every day only to muddle through new experiences with your older children...wishing that they might revert back to being less mouthy and more like the angels sweet girls they were at the tender age of 4.  They still have their sweet moments, but they've become more grumpy too.  I guess that too, is part of growing up.

When all is said and done...you pick up the pieces and learn how to glue them back together.  Sometimes there is a piece missing and you learn how to pull the other pieces closer and use a bit more glue.

As a mom, that's what we are called to do.

All I Want For Christmas

All I want for Christmas,

can't be bought in any store.

All I want for Christmas,

is a wish for something more.

All I want for Christmas,

is to see your beautiful face.

All I want for Christmas,

is for a simple change in pace.

All I want for Christmas,

is to hear your sweet little voice.

All I want for Christmas,

is to have been given a simple choice.

All I want for Christmas,

is just one more minute; one more day.

All I want for Christmas,

is a wish for another way.

All I want for Christmas,

is for mom's to never grieve.

All I want for Christmas,

is to find an ounce; an ounce of reprieve.

All I want for Christmas,

is to send you all of my love.

All I want for Christmas,

is to know you're happy, with Jesus up above.

All I want for Christmas,

can't be bought in any store.

All I want for Christmas,

is for you to know, I love you even more.

©K. Iannello

December 18, 2014

Holes In My Heart

Growing up, I never knew that you could have holes in your heart or even in your soul for that matter.  The first hole that became evident to me was a God-shaped hole.  After going on Western NY Girls' Chrysalis Flight #1, I realized that even though I had been brought up in the church and had become a member of the church, there was something that was missing.  A piece peace that was missing from my life.  Once that peace was in place, the light emanated from within.  I was a subtle Christian for those who needed it and yet, my light was still evident.

At some point, I thought that I had a love shaped hole in my life.  Marriage and children came along.  The love shaped hole began to fill in.

I read a book today at my training about keeping your bucket full.  It was a children's book.  And while 'bucket dipper' seems a bit over the top, there are some people in life who try to dip into your bucket of joy/happiness/love to attempt to fill their own.  You can equate that to so many things.  A love tank, a feelings bank...whatever your heart desires.

At some points in my life, my love tank was being depleted far faster than I could keep it full or have others add to it.  And as of last year, my tank was empty.  There were little bits being added, but it was never completely full.

Slowly, life has increased the love within my tank, but at the same time...there is yet another hole in my life.

It's a Cora shaped hole.  Sometimes, the hole seems so enormous, it feels like there is nothing left of me.  The snuggler she was, her personality, even her body size...just fit me to a T.  She can never be replaced.  And the hole remains.  Even now, the hole is sore and like a wound open for the world to see.  It is sensitive to touch.  It aches. 

And...there is nothing...not one thing that I can do right now to heal it. 

After a mere 7 months...it still seems like yesterday.  I try to close my eyes and imagine running my hand over her hair...smell the scent of her after she got out of the bathtub.  And tonight, I even thought about pulling her clothes out the drawers and just burying myself in them on my bed.  I miss her pajama clad body...the footies padding down the hallway to my bedroom.  Her little voice coming in to tell me that she had helped find Sylvester our elf.

After 37 years in this life, while I have lost some of my dearest family members...those who I certainly miss because they're gone (yep Papa...I surely do!)...there is nothing so far in this life that can compare to losing Coraline.

My Cora shaped hole will forever be.

Things I Know

I need to be clear with those friends that read my blog.  There are some things I understand and know, but when you're able to explain everything to my heart and have it stick...let me know.

1.  I have undoubtedly been blessed with three beautiful children.  Girls at that.  Each of them a very unique twist of their father and myself.  I have no qualms about just how blessed I am to still have two of my children with me in this life.  And please do not think that I am angry, but a mother who is grieving her child...understands how blessed she is to have other children...if indeed she has other children.

2.  Grieving is unique to each person.  There is one thing I'd like to be clear on.  Please don't compare your grief to anyone else who is experiencing grief.  In this society, we tend to have a convoluted idea of how people should grieve.  There is no right or wrong way.  There is no time limit.  Grief does not need to be hidden.  And again...please don't compare.

 

3.  Please know that not every day is going to be a stellar day for me.  Some days, it's all I can do to be present in the day.

4.  I don't always want to talk about things.  I just need to be quiet with myself.  Sometimes I withdraw.  Sometimes I put on a great front.  And what I need most?  

Am I saying not to talk to me?  No, but sometimes just knowing someone is there is more powerful than anything that can be said.

And...

5.  *certainly not the last one, but it is for tonight*...Sometimes we go through spontaneous storms.  There are times in this process that we're just going to lose our stuff.  And, I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that it's okay for me to do that from time to time.

 

I have learned a lot in these last nearly 7 months.  I've learned a lot about myself and who I am becoming.  With that said, I still need my time to grieve.  Today, while I know I should be grateful that my baby is in heaven...dang it!!!  I want her HERE!  There is a Cora shaped hole in my life that will never be filled.

Today, it just happened to be an exposed wound..showing the world just how much she is missed.

Love

I have spoken about a man named Jay off and on in my posts since Coraline passed away.  He has been a rock for me to lean on, a place of support, a shoulder to cry on, and an embrace to soothe my heart.  There are many who don't understand how he came into my life.  Or even why he came into my life when he did.

Jay and I go back 20 years.  We worked together at a place called Perkins.  He watched me, teased me, I teased him, and we laughed a lot.  When I graduated from high school, I was often down on myself because I wasn't going 'out' like a lot of other friends.  This is nothing new, if you know me at all, I have a terrible self image.  Jay offered to take me out.  At the time, I was 17 and Jay was 25.  He came to my house to pick me up.  He had a single red rose for me.  He met my parents.  He walked me out to his car and opened the car door for me.

Jay was *and is* easy to talk to.  His blue eyes were *and are* piercing.  They are the type of eyes that allow you to see all the way into the soul.  He would get mad if I tried to open my own door.  He opened doors at the restaurant.  I felt like myself around him.

There was one day that he took me to Cascade Falls.  It's a beautiful place and off the beaten path.  As we waded in the water, he took me by the hand and said, "I love you."  I know that I was taken aback.  No guy had ever told me that he loved me first...not before him or after him.  And...I believed him.  The feeling was mutual.

In time, life became busy for Jay.  I was a teenager and 'needy'.  My mother had told Jay to watch himself since I was considered jail bait (I didn't know that at the time).  We split shortly after I found out that I had mono, but not by choice.  The pain was unbearable.  Looking back now, it had to be as it was.  I started college in the spring semester of 1996 and earned my bachelor's degree several years later.

I moved on.  Married.  I had 3 beautiful children.  My marriage wasn't what it appeared.  The smoke and mirrors hid a lot.  I hid a lot.  The last 20 years have truly shaped who I am.  I have become an adult.  I am less needy and more independent.  However, I am more fearful of life, I am a walking wounded in more ways than one, and I have become more aware of who I am and what I'm made of.

One day, out of the blue, I heard a song that reminded me of Jay.  The love I'd had for him never really died, but had been tucked away in my heart.  I had searched for him off and on over the years, but never had managed to find him.  This time when I searched for him...I found him!  We began talking again and I realized that my love for him *and his for me* was still very much there.

In December 2013, Jay sold most of what he had, and moved to Arizona.  If you read about Cora's stay in the hospital, you know that Jay stayed with me the whole week while I was there.  He made sure that I ate and got me out so that I wasn't staying in her room 24/7.  Even when I did get out of the room, I felt guilty.  Jay was with me when Cora passed.  He grieved her as if she was his own child.  He helped me with funeral arrangements.

In the months since, he has been a sounding board, a friend, a shoulder to cry on, someone to hold my hand, drive me to the ER, take care of me or the girls when we've been sick, helps cook, clean, do dishes *sometimes when the oldest child is not doing them*, and is generally my helpmate.  I get kisses throughout my day and am told that I'm loved almost as much as I am kissed...or equally as much.  We snuggle on the couch when if I am able to stay awake long enough to make it through a show.  He often gets frustrated with me because I tend to withdraw often.  He calls me on it.

Jay has promised to always be here for us.  Life has certainly evolved since we knew each other last.  We can actually be adults together.  We can have adult beverages together.  I have to say, that's one pretty sweet positive!  We can make plans together.  We can think about life together.

At the ages of 37 and 45, life has given to us the experiences we needed to allow us to be together and work together as a couple.  In a little over a month, Jay will hit the 1 year mark of having moved here.  We have gone through so much in a year and yet, I am sure that God brought him here at the exact time He did...knowing exactly what I would need.

While my heart is still broken from losing my sweet Cora, my heart is being mended in so many other ways.  And...I am thankful.

Grief

You know, this grief thing is hard work.  And I mean...HARD...WORK.  It's freakin' exhausting.  I'm in a constant roller coaster of emotions.  Just when I think I have it figured out...WHAM!  By-the-way...I hate loathe being on the roller coaster.

The worst part now, after 6 months, is realizing that my 11-year old is experiencing this same grief, but is so ill prepared on how to handle it.  She doesn't understand her anger.  She is unable to express her sorrow.  What makes things even more difficult?  She understands more than most kids her age.  The things that used to annoy her about her sister...she misses with every fiber of her being.  The mornings that she'd wake up and have Cora snuggled up against her in her bed.  Her sneakiness.  Yeah...all of that.

What can I do, but grieve with her?  We talk about Cora together.  I've told her that anger is perfectly normal.  She's reading through a book that was given to me that I've read mostly through.  I talked to her about the different stages of grief and how sometimes we're a combination of all of them...all at the same time.

My poor child feels guilty.  She feels guilty because I was with her at PCH instead of being home with Cora.  She thinks that if I had been home with Cora, she might not be gone.  She doesn't understand why it had to be Cora.  She's mad because she'll continue to have a birthday, but her sister won't.  She doesn't know what she wants for Christmas because she really just doesn't want anything.

My greatest challenge amongst this grief?  Reassuring my children that they are loved, that they are safe, and that I will do everything within my abilities to keep them healthy and happy.  I don't brush things off as easily as I used to...not that I really brushed things off per se, but I didn't rush to the doctor.  Now, I tend to be a bit gun shy.  And honestly, the doctor's need to understand that.

As I have said about myself, I will say it again for the sake of my children...we still need understanding, we need friends who will not ask questions, who will let us talk about our Cora, who will love us no matter what, and who can walk through this painful part of our lives.  It's messy and it's hard, but we'll know who we can count on most.

For those that have stuck around and waded through the mire with us...there are no words.  Just know that we are so grateful that you are here.

She Lived

I'm looking at videos this morning of Cora.  I know she was in my life...I have proof!  I have pictures and videos galore!  I have pictures and videos of milestones, birthdays, holidays.  She was in my life.  How is it that I no longer have this sweet child in my life anymore??

The hardest part sometimes is saying to myself, "I don't have fighting when I go to the grocery store anymore."  Or, "She's not swiping stuff from her preteen sister anymore."  But, that's what made life, life.  She portrayed the younger sister perfectly.  She was able to annoy her sisters with ease.  After all, she was only 4.  And...isn't that what little sisters are meant to do?

I know in my heart that I need to celebrate the time I had with her instead of mourning the time I don't have with her, but right now?  That's incredibly hard.  I want that time with her.  I want to see her little face when I go back to work after dropping her off for her class.  I want to see her learn how to ride her bike without her training wheels.  I want to see her go to kindergarten next year.

If it weren't for the pictures and videos, it would seem as if her life never existed.  But, I know she lived.  I was deathly ill for 2 months, on home health care and a PICC line, on meds for 7 months after that, and was in and out of the hospital for all 9 months.  I felt her move inside my belly.  I cried when she was born and I felt the warmness of her little body against mine when the nurses handed her to me for the first time in the recovery room.  I was there for every moment of her little life.  And I was there and felt her heart beat for the last time.

I did not choose to let her go.  I had to let her go.

No parent would voluntarily choose to let go of their child.  Sometimes...we have to.  We have to because they're far too sick to stay with us.  God knows.  He had to give up His child too, but not because he was sick.

My heart aches for her.  I long to hear her little voice..."I want my momma."  "I love you momma." 

She may not have had red hair or grey colored eyes, but personality wise...she was my mini me. 

Some days are better than others.  And lately...there's been more hard days than better ones.  I cry, not because of life that's happening now, but because of the little life I am missing.

NOT Fair

Everything seems unfair right now.

I just had another birthday.  I hate that I can have another birthday, but my Cora can't.  I hate that the season is changing and I'm experiencing it, but my Cora isn't.  I hate that I can love the smell of rain, but my Cora isn't here to smell it.

We took pictures with me and the cake.  A first in a lot of years.  I think maybe the last time I had a picture taken for my birthday...with cake and candles...was on my 30th birthday.  And now, having pictures without Cora in them, just doesn't seem right.

In looking back over the past year, so much has changed.  So much.  I have definitely gained weight.  A lot of weight.  I would love to say all of those times of self-talk and knowing what I should do in the face of stress would give me the umph to make it through...not so much.  I have endured more stress than I'd like to admit.  I'd love to say that I'm ready to jump back on the bandwagon, but right now, I am focusing on making it to the next day in life.

I started working again a year ago.  Cora was loving preschool.  We were adjusting to me being out of the house 5 days a week.

Home life has changed.

My family size is down by 1.

And I am a year older.

Things that have not changed:  I live in the same house, I have the same house phone number, and the same e-mail address.

The last year has changed a lot about who I am and how I look at life.  It has shown me who my friends are and who my enemies are.  It has taught me that life isn't about having the strength to carry on, but the courage to face another day.

I'm not sure what to expect in the next year of my life.  I'm pretty sure that I have learned what I have needed to learn this year and that as we move into 2015, life will continue to evolve in ways I never expected.

Death and Dying

It's been nearly 5 months since our Cora passed away and while having an extraordinarily difficult afternoon/evening with my two older children, I had an epiphany.

We have been richly blessed all these years.  Sometimes living far away from family is both a blessing and a curse.  Why?  Grace is the only one who remembers my Papa...my mom's dad.  She remembers creepy mouse with Papa, but at the age of nearly 4 *and me having just turned 29*, we lost Papa.  I was 9 months pregnant and due to deliver 1/10 with Rae.  We weren't able to return to NY for services.  Just 12 days later, my other grandfather passed away.  I was just 9 days post-partum with Rae.

There have been those who have passed since Rae and Cora were both born, but they were more significant to me than to them.  And again, we have lived so far away from family for so long that making an unexpected trip home has more often than not, been impossible.

What am I getting at?  My children have never really had to deal with death and dying.  We happened to see a casket being brought into the church we were attending once, which spurred a whole conversation, but it wasn't personal.

They have never had someone so incredibly close, pass away, seemingly in the blink of an eye.  This again, is a blessing and a curse.  They have been sheltered for so long that they really don't know how to act...how to get their feelings out.  There is lack of understanding...raw pain...anger...resentment...guilt.  All of it.

And...I can't take it away from them.

I wish I could.

All I can say to them is that I know.  I feel those things too.  That I would do anything to have Cora back in our lives.

And to let them know...that I hear them loud and clear.

The Report

There is a lot of information in this post, so just be prepared.

This week has been emotionally and physically exhausting.  Here are a few things to note:

1.)  The doctor's office needs to put a label or flag on my file.  I am not depressed due to life, I am depressed because my Cora had to leave.  I don't need a 'booklet' on depression...thank you very much.

2.)  People are jerks.  Either some of the guys that work at the cemetery are jerks...or people that have visited the cemetery are jerks.  I placed two butterfly solar lights and a butterfly that flapped its wings in the breeze by Cora's plot.  When I stopped on Monday, one solar light was missing, and all that I could find of the butterfly, was a wing under the bush by Cora's plot.  Yeah.  Heartbroken.

3.)  On the same day that I stopped at the cemetery, I got a call from the mortuary.  Cora's headstone is in.  It was going to be set in cement and then we'll see it get placed, hopefully this coming week.

Thursday, I had a doctor's appointment.  Can I just say that I *heart* my doctor??  And sadly, she's only temporary.  That makes things hard because I know I'll have to start all over again.  Relive...every. last. detail.  She listened to me.  She even took the time to go over the autopsy report on Thursday.

As she went through the results, she drew diagrams of the lungs, heart, liver, and spleen.  These things were confirmed:  pneumonia, RSV, strep B, and she was in septic shock.  As she went over the respiratory system, she noted that there was a puss pocket in the right lung, there was evidence that it was still hemorrhaging, and there was a clot.  Basically, she scribbled out the right lung.  It was done.  She said that the bacteria in her body had started to attack the valves in her heart.  The liver had differing kinds of fatty deposits happening due to the infection, as well as the spleen being enlarged...also from infection.  There was a blood clot in-between the two hemispheres of her brain, meaning that she had a stroke.  There was also the hemorrhage on the brain.  Sometimes with this kind of infection, the brain shifts to one side, and hers did just that.  She said that there were beginning signs of kidney failure.  I knew that they were having trouble with Cora's blood thickening.  The ECMO needs a certain consistency of blood in order for it to work properly and they were struggling to keep it thin enough.  My doctor told me that *again* sometimes with this amount of infection, the blood can do one of two things...either become thick or become too thin.  Cora's was too thick.

Basically when all was said and done, Cora was just very sick.  She was one of the healthiest kids and even being as healthy as she was, things could have gone either way.  I wish I could say that it brings comfort knowing that things could have gone either way, but it doesn't.  My doctor told me to tuck the report away until much later.  I'm really not ready to try and read through it with any clarity. 

Life keeps marching on and I don't want it to.  I want her here.  It wasn't meant to be this way.  Ever.

And yet...here we are...4 months and 8 days later...still muddling through this thing called life.

Oh Sweet Child

Cora, you had very few things in this life that you cherished.  You loved bigger than your age, without boundaries, and beyond what many adults can even fathom.

You never had much of a passion for toys.  You did, however, love to be outside.  You loved to be on your bike, your scooter, in the wagon, on the swings...wherever your little feet could take you...following closely on the heals of your sister.

With that said, sweet child of mine, I couldn't bring myself to put the one item that brought you the most comfort in this life, in with you at the end.

You would have taken your mimi with you everywhere if I had let you.  I did when you were smaller.  It was your thumb companion.

I imagine you had beautiful dreams with it close by your side.  You covered yourself with it; I covered you with it.

And it was never far away when you were sick.  I feel terrible that your mimi made a trip to Phoenix while your big sister was in the hospital, and one of your true comforts, was with me in my car.  I didn't realize it until I was headed home with your sister.

The nurses kept it as close to you as they could while you were in the hospital, but you kept spiking a temperature, so they would take it off from you and fold it at the end of your bed.

I'm sorry my sweet Cora, but momma still needs your mimi.  It's not far from my bed at night.  I cry myself to sleep on it sometimes.  I picture in my mind, you snuggled up to it, you on one side and me on the other.  I promise to keep it safe.  And while your clothes and pictures mean a lot to me, your mimi is that little part of you, that will always keep you close to me.

I love you kid.  I miss you so much.

The "H" Word

I have been thinking about the "h" word a lot lately.  I already asked my friend, who is the queen of everything fall/holiday related, to share some of her umph with me.  She lovingly reminded me that I need to take one day at a time.  But darn it, I'm having a hard time not looking ahead, not looking at what looms on the horizon, and what will be knocking on my doorstep in just a matter of months.

You see, this coming Wednesday, my 'kids' start back...that is, my classroom full of preschoolers. And once that happens, life will get just a bit busier.  If you think on it a bit more, there's exactly two, yes two weeks left in the month of August.  Then it will be Labor Day.  Then blink a few more times and the "h's" start.

What is this "h" word that I speak of?  It is the holidays.  You know as well as I do that come mid to late September, the stores will start stocking the Christmas stuff right next to the Halloween stuff.  Never mind the fact that Thanksgiving *that holiday that we give thanks for the blessings in our lives...and maybe some of the other things too* is in the middle of those two holidays.  Okay, I'm backing off my soap box  now. 

Let me tell you a wee secret.  The beans were spilled with my oldest daughter a little over a year ago on all things.  No Santa and no Easter Bunny.  *Sniffle*  The amazing thing was that I still had two children who believed wholeheartedly in both.  Sweet!  Only, now I'm missing a piece of that equation.

Remember that friend that said to take one day at a time?  She suggested that I include Cora in some way.  So...my brain has been working on that.

We always carve pumpkins for Halloween.  So, instead of carving one for Cora, we'll decorate one...with markers, material, stickers...whatever it is the girls want to put on there.  We'll then take it over to the cemetery.  I think for Thanksgiving, we'll set an empty place for Cora, so that we can remember her.  And for Christmas?  Aside from remember that the real reason for the season is Christ, we will be lighting a candle for her, hanging her stocking, putting up her ornaments, and possibly doing something at the cemetery.  I do have three solar powered Christmas trees that might just work since they won't have to be doing any mowing if there is snow on the ground.

Of course, I still have time before any of these hit, but she was still young enough that these things were fun for her.  She enjoyed dressing up for Halloween.  She loved looking for Sylvester our elf.  Her little light, was joy the of the holidays.  I'm not saying that my 7 year old doesn't have the light, but there's nothing quite like the joy of a littler person around the holidays.  It's what makes putting up the decorations, listening to the music, the baking and decorating of cookies, the long nights of wrapping presents from all the various relatives, and all the other little things...worthwhile.

Maybe now that I've thought about it, preplanned it, dissected it...ruminated about it...I might...might be able to put it on the back burner for now. 

For now.

Until tomorrow...

when it all begins again.

Something Like That

I originally created this blog *in addition to my other two* for a place to write and express myself.  I hadn't done it in so long, that I felt as though I had lost a little piece of myself.  I really began writing back in the early 90s as I entered high school.  I didn't enjoy high school *sorry alumni that may be reading this*.  It was awful tolerable on most days.  I enjoyed being around the teachers who seemed to 'get me.'  Maybe that's why I was voted teacher's pet my senior year in high school.  At any rate, I think at my age, I'd gladly say that I was a teacher's pet.  Not because I brown-nosed spent a lot of time trying to get them to do things for me, but because of the emotional boost I received from them on a daily basis.  I also had a close group of friends those last couple of high school years and somehow...out of all of us...there are only two or three of us that still communicate.  Life has taken us in all directions.

So, when all else failed and I really needed someone to hear me, I would write.  Oftentimes, my writing was more of a prayer...begging God to hear me.  Even now, I'm begging him to hear me.  "Please God...please...heal my broken heart!"  "Not yet.  Not yet my child."  I'm sure he's polishing my heart.  He has a cloth that is slightly abrasive, but soft all at the same time.  He's running it over and over my heart.  Most days, it feels more abrasive than soft, but there are those other days where I feel the softness of the cloth, soothing my soul.

I've often said that we all have friendships, a circle of friends, much like Jesus did.  You have your acquaintances, the people you know by name, but they're not people who you share every morsel of your life with.  Then there are friends that you spend a lot of time with, but you still don't share every detail of your life with them.  We're getting closer here.  Just outside the inner circle are some special friends.  They may know quite a bit about your life, but you may hold on to a few pieces of yourself.  And well...then there's this inner circle.  It's a few select friends that know you down to the dirty stuff.  They may even know you well enough to know what your mood is without even asking.

And well...it gets to be a bit like this:

I have been really blessed with friends.  I'd say that I have quite a few between the 'special' circle and that inner circle.

I also believe that we have friends in seasons.  Those close friends I spoke of that I had in high school?  That was a season.  Some friends come and camp out in the season called life.  Some come and go.  Others come in later in life and camp out in life.  And even more still, were there when you were young...seemingly 'vanished' and then just as suddenly as they 'vanished'...they reappear in a more supportive role.

In all of this, I have been shown what tremendous friendships I have.  I have friends who are willing to drop into the mud with me.  After listening to the UT commencement speech for 2014, these are just a couple of things I learned about friends *may be my own wording*:

1. Find people to help you paddle.  When you're in the boat, struggling through the waves of life, you need friends who won't quit paddling with you.
2. All it takes is the hope of one person.  Just one person.  When you're up to your neck in mud and life just seems far too overwhelming...start singing.  Before you know it, others will join in...loving you through it, making life more bearable.
3. It's not the size of your flippers, but the size of your heart *more his words*.  You need to respect everyone.

There were others, but those pertain to life...and life with friends.  And when I'm afraid to call out to my friends...I write...and I call out to God.

Calling Out

I am screaming.  I am calling out.  Can you hear me?  I'm pouring out my soul.  Every last ounce of my being is laid out before you.  Can you see it?  And yet, I am pulling away.  Drawing back into myself...into a place where life is as it should be.

What is this place?  Where life is as it should be?  Nothing is familiar here.  There is a darkness that looms.  It is so thick that I can't see.  There is no visible light.  No path to find.  Others have been in this place, but their footsteps go in all different directions.

The darkness is getting thicker.  I am getting down on my hands and knees.  I'm crawling aimlessly, searching for something that is remotely familiar, but there is nothing.  There is pain coming from all around, but there is no one thing that I can say is causing it.

I don't want anyone in this place with me.  It's an awful place.  A place no one should ever have to enter. 

I call out again.  I am screaming.  Crying.  I am begging for you to hear me. 

And all at once I realize...you can't hear even the slightest sound of my cries...because they are all within my mind.  I keep retreating back into my mind because I don't want you to feel what I feel.  I don't feel as though I deserve to be loved.  Or to be held.

It's these moments...these moments of quiet distance...when I seem resistant to being close...that I need you to pull me close, no matter how much I struggle, put your hand through my hair and whisper that you love me. 

Just Another Day

So back at the end of May, I ended up at the cemetery to see my baby.  As you can imagine, I sat and sobbed.  There aren't a whole lot of times where I end up at the cemetery and remain dry eyed, even now.  The day I was there, happened to be beautiful and sunny.  My 7yo and I had taken a pinwheel over for Cora prior to that day.  The way the sun was shining and coming through the trees, made me realize that we had made the perfect choice on where she should be.

I snapped this picture:

Later that day, my friend noticed a very interesting thing.  If you look closely at the above picture, you can see it even without what she did for me.  But, she did this:

If you look towards the right arrow, you can see the profile of my sweet Cora.  I find comfort knowing that she's still around me, but it surely doesn't make it any easier.

Today, I'm missing my Cora.  I feel off.  The big girls start school tomorrow.  And I know...it is much needed for all of us.  We have had a good summer.  There were things that I had wanted to do with the girls, but due to circumstances, just weren't able to make them happen.  I'm disappointed, as are the girls.  I am hoping though, that once I'm back to work, we will start doing some 'day trips' on the weekends and do things we've never done before.

And then there's that.  I have felt ready to get back to work.  Until yesterday.  The odd thing is that the kids don't start until next week and this week we're getting the classroom ready and doing last minute things *like getting lesson plans done, etc.*

Of course, there is a host of other personal stuff that is going on that is also playing a part in my panic.  I am rocking in my rocking chair, but it sure isn't going anywhere.  I mean, the worry that I have isn't contributing to life and is just making things increasingly difficult.

So, as I step back into the 'real' world...pray *or send up positive thoughts* that I am able to find enough distraction to make the days go by quickly and that I'm not presented with lots of apologies as the new year begins.

Noah and Storms

We headed to church on Sunday and I am so thankful that we did.  I've heard a lot of sermons in the last several months, but the one on Sunday, really hit home.

It's a series...on storms.  Storms in our lives.  We may all be living in our own personal storm, but my personal storm is losing my sweet Cora.  The pastor talked about Noah and his ark.  She asked us if we had really thought about Noah sitting on the ark. I mean, we know that it rained for 40 days and 40 nights.  Then Noah sat on the boat for another 150 days.

So let's think about this for a bit...even if you're not religious.  Forty days.  Forty nights.  Nothing but rain. You're sitting on this enormous boat with your family...and...2 of every creature/beast on the earth.  If you are like me, being cooped cozied up with my family for 40...yes FORTY days and nights in a huge boat...things could get mighty dicey.  Then tack on the fact that your boat is also loaded up with animals. AND you get to just sit there on the water, in the boat, with your family...and the animals for another 150 days??  Yeah wow!  And Noah?  He was wondering where God was in it all.

I'm pretty sure that I'm a bit like Noah right now.  Only, I'm not on a boat, it hasn't been raining for 40 days/nights, and I'm not stuck with a boatload *literally* of animals and my family.

I do know though, that the rain and waves still come.  In the off times, I'm sitting on the boat with no waves and in that 150 day period, wondering where God is in it all.

I've talked about that dreaded 'what-if' monster before.  And apparently, as a grieving parent, it's quite normal.  I've been swimming in what-ifs quite a bit lately and beating myself up over things that were really out of my control.  But as a mom, I want to be able to control everything.  I want to be able to do everything I can for my children...make sure they are healthy, eat healthy, and are taken care of.  When you lose a child, you feel like you have failed them.  That somehow, you weren't able to do exactly what it is you, as a mom, are supposed to do.

And so I question. I blame myself for not being able to be in two places at once.  And wonder...where is God in all of it?

Today is Cora's 3 month angelversary and it stings.  I talked to my doctor today and as I cried, she told me that everything that I am experiencing, questioning, and fighting is all normal.  She also told me that my 'job' of grieving is to be done in community.  She compared our 'mourning' here in America to that of other countries where they wail.  She believes that we tend to have it a bit backwards.  I also think that I tend to hold things back because, well...I feel guilty burdening people with my grief.  One of the biggest things she said to do?  She said to keep telling stories.  Even if I have told the story 29 times...tell it 29 more times.

I miss my Cora...my wash belly *my friend from Jamaica says that it means that the last baby you had in your belly*.  And she certainly has held a special place in my heart.

Not My Life

I keep wandering around in my skin, wondering if this is truly my life.  I am both loved beyond measure...far more than I have ever been loved before...and hated far more than I have ever been hated before.  I'm not sure if this is how it was all supposed to turn out, but I know that God has his hand in every single thing.  And, although I feel as if I lose sight of him from time to time, I know he's lingering ever closer to my side.

I am infinitely blessed by friends *and family -- which are almost one in the same* who listen.  By friends who are spontaneous.  By friends who know just what I need *and when I need it.*  By friends who stand by while I shed yet more tears...tears that seemingly come from nowhere.

Friends from all walks of life.


I found this while searching pinterest for child loss quotes:

I'd say it about sums up life right now.  I know that there isn't another soul who would want to trade shoes with me...or even walk in them for a time.  And honestly, I can't say as I blame them.  I wouldn't want to walk in my shoes either.  And yet...I do.  Daily.  Weekly.  And in some aspects of my life, there are shoes I've been walking in for far longer than I should have.  Years.  This is just a new pair of shoes added on top of the other pair.  A pair on top of a pair if you will.

In all though, my friends have offered a comfortable place to sit along the way...a place to stop, sit and rest...a respite from this journey that I'm on.  And I welcome the rest.  You all are showing me a little Jesus here on earth.  Matthew 11:28 says, "Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest."

That I am.  That. I. Am.

Denial to Anger

I am angry today.  I am angry because I don't have my baby any more.  She should be here.  I don't want her with Jesus.  She should be here with me!  Why?  Why can't I have her?  Did I deserve this?  Why her?  Doesn't God have enough children in heaven already?

I know she couldn't be mine forever, but couldn't I have had her for quite a bit longer?  Maybe graduate from  high school or something??

I should be at peace knowing that she is with Jesus and I whispered for her to go to Him, but my selfish self want her back all to myself...to snuggle with, to love on...to smell her clean hair and skin after taking a shower or a bath.

I have been so camped out in denial for the past two months, that the waves of reality have come and gone quickly.  But, for the past week, anger pulled in and set up camp.  Denial is still lingering in smaller bits, giving me rest from the reality.

Forever Four

Looking at the pictures

that now hang upon the wall,

I realized at at once,

what would happen after the fall.

Your oldest sister keeps on growing

dark eyes and hair and oh so tall.

There you will be, year after year

blue eyes and light hair and oh so small.

Your next oldest sister is growing too,

beautiful and lovely

and before you know it,

I'll look back and realize,

just how fast time flew.

And yet there you are,

the same as the day you left.

A sunshiny little girl,

full of joy and laughter,

a light in my world.

You will never be six or seven,

or start school or go to prom,

for you are in heaven.

You will always be my little girl.

I will always want more...

and though the years pass,

you will always be...

forever four.

©Kati Iannello (aka mom)

7/10/14

From Tiny Baby To My Little Girl

If I had known back then...

2 days old

...what I know now...

1 month

...would I have cherished sleepless nights?

2 months

If knew then...

3 months

...what I know now...

4 months

...would I have snuggled you more?

5 months

Nibbled your chubby cheeks more often?

6 months

Counted my blessings at being your momma?

7 months

Endured your frustration with me?

I don't want my picture taken...wait!  Smile!  8 months

If I knew then...

9 months

...what I know now...

10 months

...would we have laughed more?

11 months

Cherished every birthday?

1st Birthday

And each day, week, year?

2nd Birthday

Even knowing what I do now...

3rd Birthday

...I wouldn't change a thing.

4th Birthday

Wondering Why

Have you ever walked through the grocery store and seen people you know, people who are seemingly in a blissful state with their family?  Then thought...I'm down one.  The fighting at the grocery store doesn't happen anymore.  The children in my care are approaching 12 and 8.  My nearly 12 year old will be heading to middle school, and yes, while it is just on the other side of the building that she's been attending for the past 2 years, it's a huge leap!

Don't get me wrong, the girls fight.  It's natural.  Or at least, I tell myself that.  My sister and I fought like cats and dogs until she moved out on her own and got married.  Then we became inseparable.  It breaks my heart to be so far from my sister now.  And I could never be more thankful that God brought her here when he did.

You see...it's just her and I.  The two of us.  No other siblings.  We only have each other.  And, I am immeasurably thankful for her.  While life sometimes gets in the way and years seem to pass by without the chance to see each other, we still have each other.  Nothing and I mean nothing can take away the bond that which is sisterhood.  The fact that she was here with me, by my side when Cora slipped from this life, was a precious gift.  I'm sure it wasn't the gift that she had intended to give me.  No one should have to stand with their only sister and watch their baby leave this life. 

She could have stepped out.  She could have not come at all when I called at 3am.  But, she did.

And, like Jesus washing the disciples' feet, my sister helped to lovingly give my baby her last bath, a task that this momma just couldn't bear.

With that said, I hope that my girls can see past their differences, and at some point, learn to be great friends.  Maybe that will happen when the oldest moves out and gets married.  I just hope that it doesn't take too long.  They will miss a tremendous gift if they don't finally see it.

As for my questioning...it's still happening. 

I took Cora's bed down over the weekend and cried the entire time.  Jay offered to help, but I knew that I needed to do it for me.  And God bless that man, he offered to make something special out of it for me so that I'd always have it.  While taking her bed down is a huge step, I'm not quite ready to say that I want to see it used in another way.  I've taken her clothes out to make a memorial quilt; I put them on the bed, laid my head down on them, and cried.  They went back in her dresser.

I don't feel at all strong.  It's like a series of 'holding it together' moments in amongst the 'I'm completely losing it' moments.  And life...it just keeps on happening.

How Much Will You Miss Me?

"Momma, how much will you miss me?"

"More than anything."

"But how much?"

"It can't be measured."

"Would you miss me more than you love coffee?"

"I have loved you more than I love coffee."

"What will you do when I'm gone?"

"I will probably cry a lot.  So much, that it seems to fill a small pool."

"Why will you cry?"

"Because my heart hurts and I long to have you snuggling with me."

"Momma, I snuggle you daily.  Those little thoughts that you have of me, things that are mine that still sit here and there...it's like a hug from heaven."

"My dear child, I miss your touch."

"Momma, your friends and family touch you in so many ways.  They have taken on my love and continue to share it with you."



Oh sweet Cora, I imagine our conversations.  For as much as you would ask why, I often find that I ask 'why' equally as much now. I love you Cora...to the moon and back!

The Whole Story

Let me preface this post by saying that after a day or two in the hospital, especially in the PICU, days began to blend together.  I am trying to remember things as they happened and even though it's only been a month, my brain has literally turned to mush.

Let me also say, this has a lot of details of her last hours that may be difficult for some.  I am writing it out, so it is not forgotten.

Have tissues at hand.

---------

There are moments where I can't erase the last pictures I have of you - those in the hospital - from my mind.  They are painful and they are real.

I so desperately want those last pictures that are to remain in my head to be those of Easter.  Your playful spirit bouncing...the light in your blue eyes.  But, even those are painful knowing that a week later I rushed you to the hospital, only to have you flown from one hospital to the next.

I had taken you to your 4 year old well child exam on April 24th.  You had been running a fever...again.  After learning what an otherwise healthy and smart little girl you were, and me telling the doctor that you were feverish, they took one last temperature and sure enough, it was 101.9.  The doctor felt as though it was something viral since you had just finished an antibiotic for strep throat the day before.  I was told to alternate between tylenol and ibuprofen every 4 hours.

That evening, I drove your oldest sister down to the children's hospital.  I kept tabs on you while you were home with dad.  I kept asking if he was alternating meds.

On Sunday, the 27th of April, Ena flew in to help momma out with you girls while I finished out the school year.  I took her back to the hospital to wait for your sister to be discharged.  We drove up the hill to have dinner with Jay and I grabbed a few groceries.  Dad had asked if I'd grab pedialyte, so I grabbed some Gatorade knowing you wouldn't drink the other and a few other essentials at the store.

When I pulled in, I pulled everything into the house.  I took one look at you and thought, "We need to go!"  You were unresponsive on the couch with a glass of juice gripped in your hand.  I pulled the glass out of your hand and set it on the coffee table.  Your eyes just opened in slits and rolled back into your head.  I didn't receive my typical greeting..."Momma!"

I picked you up and carried you to my bedroom so I could put clean jammies on you.  You had spilled some juice on yourself.  I put a coat on you and ran out the door.  You were limp, just like a rag doll.  I tried the health care center, but they had closed early.  So I immediately got onto the interstate to get to the hospital.  I called Jay in tears asking him to meet me at the ER.

When I got there, they put bracelets on both of us and took us right back.  They weighed you, took your temperature, and checked your oxygen levels.  They immediately put oxygen on you.  All the while, you were just limp.  Jay came in and they took us into a room.  They pulled your jammies and as we took off your underwear, we noticed that you had soiled them.  We cleaned you up and they put a diaper on you.  You were breathing so quickly, it was almost as if you were panting.  They started an iv.  You started to perk up a little.  "I want my mimi (the word you used for blanket)."  I brought it over to you.  You fought the oxygen and Jay kept it over your nose and mouth.

"I want my mommy."  I was happy to comply.  More snuggling.

They noticed blood around your mouth but they weren't sure what it was from.  They took an x-ray of your lungs.  The right lung had a lot of white to it, meaning it was full of infection.

The doctor came in and told us that she needed to intubate and do it quickly.  She was also going to start a femoral line in your leg.  They moved you into another room.  They pulled a chair over in front of the door-they told me they were going to fly you to the children's hospital.

I sat there and cried as this team worked on you.  Jay stood next to me, pulling me into him as he cried too.  I explained to the case worker that I had just come back from that hospital.  Jay decided that he would drive me in my car back down.  The case worker did whatever she could for us including a blanket for the car.

We followed you to the elevator for the helicopter.  I had given them my cell phone number so that they could call me when they got you there.  I kissed you and told you that I loved you.

I fought sleep all the way down.  I knew how to get to the hospital-Jay did not.  As time passed, I started to worry that the Mercy Flight team had not yet called.  Just as we were about to pull into Phoenix, the crew member called.  She was okay-critical, but there.

You were placed in the PICU.  I knew where to park and how to enter through the ER since I had done it just mere days before with your sister.  We headed up and they were still working on you.  They took us into a "conference" room to wait.  Jay stretched out on the floor and fell asleep.  I fell asleep with my head on the table.

The doctor finally came in and it all was just a blur.  Testing was done, cultures and blood tests.  It'll be a couple of days...  They felt as though you had had a hemorrhage in/around your lung.  You were running a fever.

Later that day, they placed a chest tube.  The tube was meant to help drain any fluid that was around the lung.  They also had a tube down your nose to keep stuff out of your stomach.  You were quite the sight!  The highlight of my first day was you squeezing my fingers.  It sure warms a momma's heart.

The next couple of days were fairly uneventful.  It was a series of tweaking your meds; what was a good way to keep you sedated and comfortable?  As they rolled you from your left side, to your back and to the right side...you'd cough around the breathing tube.  I didn't have to look at you to know that you were coughing because the alarm sounded like "Jingle Bells", but I looked at you anyway.  They did have your little wrists restrained so you wouldn't yank anything out.

You were so puffy and they tried to balance that out too.  Diuretics or not.  More fluids or not.  A different type of med.  Or not.

The night of May 1st or 2nd (again forgive me for brain fog), they decided to put in your PICC line.  They needed to pull your other lines because of the possibility of infection.  Sadly, the team that was putting it in, seemed confused.  Jay really looked out for you that night and momma is so thankful he did.  Even while you were sedated, you sat straight up in obvious pain.  The team had to call the nurses to further sedate you.  All the while momma slept and Jay watched over you.

On May 2nd, they fixed your first chest tube and put in another.  They discovered a hole in your right lung which was allowing air to escape into your chest cavity, which then collapsed your lung.  This new chest tube was keeping the air out of your chest cavity.  They were also now seeing "disease" in your left lung too.

On May 3rd, I went down to the 3rd floor to talk to Aunt Cori.  It was an update conversation.  When I got back up to the room, I was immediately greeted by the doctor.  He told me that he felt as though we needed to do a procedure called ECMO for you.  I listened to the doctor, heard the possible complications that included bleeding on the brain, but also heard that things were dire.  If you didn't have this procedure, you would probably die.  He told me that it would pull blood from your body, throw it around in a machine, warm it, oxygenate it, and put it back into your body (not his exact words, but that's the gist).  All of this to give your lungs a break.  You would still be on the vent, but it would be turned down to the maintenance level.  You would also have a 24/7 ECMO tech.  The doctor said you would be on this machine for the minimum of a week.

After talking it through with me, he talked it over with Jay.  I looked at Jay as if to say, "What do I do?"

So, I had to sign consent for blood, anesthesiologist (who was going to put in a new iv line), the surgical team, etc.  It was going to take some time.  At this point, I was really quite done signing consent for stuff.  Not only was I signing consent for you, but I had signed for consent on things for your sister.

While you were gone, the infectious disease doctor came to talk to me.  He told me that of all the children he'd seen that were put on ECMO, you were the best candidate he had ever seen.  All of your other organs looked great.  This machine was just for your poor little lungs.

You came back; huge machine, extra person in the room, lots of checking.  They checked your pupils, rolled you, etc.

After 24 hours on the machine, your numbers had started to improve.  You were weaned down to the maintenance level on the vent and seemed to be doing well.

Aunt Cori and your cousin Eleisha flew in on Monday, May 5th.  Jay and I got the opportunity to go out to lunch with a gal from my old church.  She had brought me some comforts from home.  Then we picked up Aunt Cori from the airport.  She came back to the hospital and she loved on you.

Just that day, they had increased your feeding tube feeds and all of your numbers looked really good.  Jay decided to head back home to work for a few days and my friend was going to drive him back.  Aunt Cori was picked up at the hospital, but she took a few minutes before leaving to read "Goodnight Moon" to you and stroke your piggy tails that our night nurse Nicole had lovingly put in.  I willed you to wake up and say, "Where's the mouse?"

So, I snuggled down.  They were fiddling with the blood thinner, but other than that, a quiet night.  When I think back, "Jingle Bells" wasn't happening as much that night; you weren't coughing around the tube.  I watched an episode of "Once Upon A Time".  I made up the couch all comfy like.  I covered my eyes and fell asleep quickly.

It was the calm before the storm.

At around 12:30am, the PA that was on with the doctor, came over and poked me, "Mom!  Mom!"  If you are like me, you wake up more easily if your own kids are saying "mom" not some strange person.  As I came around, the doctor came over and said (as best I remember), "We believe Cora has a bleed on her brain.  Her pupils are not responding and she is no longer coughing."  I responded with, "What does that mean?"  "If she has bleeding on the brain, there is nothing more we can do.  We're going to take her down for a CT scan."

It was a flurry of activity, multiple nurses detaching meds you didn't need so they could fit everything into the elevator.  The night nurse continually checking your pupils and was calling out your name.  After they wheeled you out, I called Jay in tears.  It was well after 1 by now.  He kept saying that he shouldn't have left us.  He said he'd had a bad feeling about leaving us when he did.  He tried to get me to find the chapel, but I was afraid I wouldn't be there when you got back.  I saw them coming with you and I told Jay I had to go.

I knew by the way they walked, bringing you back, extra slow, that there was a bleed.  Even before they wheeled you back into the room, I was begging God to take me instead.  Life seemed to stop right then.

The doctor confirmed what I already knew.  There was a bleed on both sides of the brain, one more severe than the other.  I begged him, isn't there something that can be done?  "No.  We can keep the machine on until you can get family here."

I called Jay back.  I called dad.  I tried calling Aunt Cori and my friend Sharon.  I continued to beg to keep you-my precious baby.  I called Miss Nekol, Aunt Jessica, and Miss Meagan.  I woke them all up to talk to me.  Miss Katie called me.  I cried.  They cried.  A lot.

So...I waited.  Aunt Cori finally got word and she was coming.  Jay and dad were on their way down.  Sharon was driving in from a couple of hours away.  I sat on the foot stool and stroked your hand, telling you just how much I loved you.  Or I stood and stroked your hair.  I had some ounce of hope that you could still hear me.  You looked so peaceful, but your little tongue was sticking out from your mouth...an image I won't erase.

I was receiving texts and calls.  Aunt Cori came in, then Sharon, Jay and dad.  Dad seemed ready, but I wasn't.  The doctor and nurses moved things *and you* just enough so that I could lay with you on the bed.  I snuggled up as best I could with all the wires and tubes with you-your warm little body-my baby girl.  I wished to see your blue eyes again-just once.  Sit up and argue with me.  Tell me, "Momma, I love you.  Can I give you a hug?"

I supposed that I was ready.  Is anyone ever ready to turn machines off and watch their 4 year old slip from this life?  They removed as much as they could, so I could see your precious face.  I laid there with my hand on your chest, feeling your heart beat beneath it.  Jay asked the doctors to silence the alarms.  And so we waited...me sobbing while my hand was on your chest.  Jay stood up by our heads.  I kept whispering, "Go to Jesus", but inside I was selfishly wishing you'd stay with me.

There were a couple of moments when I thought your heart had stopped, but I carefully repositioned my hand and there it was.  It eventually slowed-the whole process seemed like only minutes.  And then I felt it...nothing.  I looked at Jay and shook my head 'no.' crying - repositioning my hand to try and find it, but there was nothing.  I laid there with my hand on your chest waiting for the doctor to call the time.

After I was out of the bed, I continued to stroke your head.  Decisions still needed to be made.  Autopsy or not?  Did dad and I want a hand or foot print cast?  Dad chose a foot; I chose your right hand because you sucked your right thumb.  Did we want a lock of your hair?  They took ink hand/foot prints too.  Did we want to give you one last bath?  Did we want your mimi to go with you?  *That was a resounding NO from me.  For as much as it brought comfort to you, it has brought an equal amount of comfort to your momma."

At some point, in my cold, exhausted and grief stricken state, I laid down on the couch and fell asleep while all of the little things happened.  Aunt Cori helped to give you a bath.  When all was done, the room was so quiet compared to just days before.  The shift change happened and I got hugs from the doctor and nurse who would have cared for you that day.  Through everything, the doctors and nurses were top notch.  I never doubted your care for a moment.

Numbly, I gathered everything in the room up, trying not to look at you because you weren't there anymore, at least not spiritually.  We got everything out to the cars.  Sharon had me eat.  Jay brought me coffee.  Aunt Cori drove and I thought surely I would sleep, but I didn't.  We met up with Jay at a rest stop and he followed us home.

I spent a lot of time on the couch that day, holding your mimi, loving on your sisters.  I called my doctor's office and begged for something to help me sleep.  After taking one pill and drifting off to sleep, dad woke me up and when I looked around, I had to ask where I was.  I still felt as though I was at the hospital.  I even thought I saw your monitors.

Whether it was Wednesday or Thursday afternoon, I spent that time with Jay getting arrangements made.  Dad seemed out of sorts, so I grabbed the dress that you wore for Easter, your white tights with pink hearts on them, some underwear, and your dress shoes.  I picked a pink, fluffy casket as it seemed fitting for you.  Once we seemed to have things figured out at the mortuary, we headed to the church.  From there, we headed to the cemetery.  We asked to see the children's section first.  The man showed us the section and I asked which plots were available.  He showed us three.  When he showed us the third one, Jay and I looked at each other and without question or comment to each other, looked back at the man and told him the last one.  Then from there, it was a matter of details, figuring out the hymns for the service, scriptures, etc.

The one thing that seemed difficult was writing an obituary for the newspaper.  I had never written one before.  Period.  Let alone having to write one for your own precious 4 year old.  I sat at the computer a lot, staring at the monitor.  I would write some and then read it to Ena and Aunt Cori.

When I dropped the obituary off, the funeral director mentioned that you were a beautiful little girl.  That you were.  No doubt.

The services were held on Monday, May 12th.  We had friends and family who came from all over.  My boss was even able to get the preschool closed for the day so my co-workers could be there with me.  Again, much of it was a blur.  Jay had a quiet presence that day, but his love for you was so evident.

There are parts to this story that I am choosing to leave out, mainly because I want to remember the good over the bad.

It has been a month since you went to be with Jesus and I miss you just as much today as I did a month  ago.  The outpouring of love and support in the last month plus has been beyond overwhelming.  We are thankful for it all.

Now as we go from now into month 2, 3, 4 and beyond, I'm not really sure what to expect.  What I do know, is that you are missed by many - more than just family.

I will love you for always sweet Coraline...always.