Heavy Heart

The last few days I've been walking around with a heavy heart, almost in a cloud of sorts. Part of it I know has to do with my grandfather's death and the planning we're doing right now for his memorial. I have been going through pictures and it's bittersweet. I love seeing his smiling face and remembering all the memories we made, but I'm so sad because he should still be here making memories with us. I don't know how much longer I expected to him live, he was 86 after all, but I know I wasn't ready for it when it happened. I guess you're never really ready for it though. And I've realized how much I didn't know about him. Like I never knew he won a bronze star in WWII. None of us knew, not even my grandmother. How did we not know that? He never told us, but we never really asked about that time either. I wish he had told us more stories and I wish I would have listened better when he did.

But honestly, it's more than that. In the last week, I've read about two babies in the same blogging community that passed away. One, a little boy, only a few weeks younger than Jack passed away from SIDS. The other, a little girl just past her first birthday died from cronic lung disease and pnuemonia. I am so sad for these families and of course it makes me think about my own kids. I go check on them when they're sleeping just to see that rise and fall of their chests. You see, we were thisclose to being one of those families. And I know the memories that will never leave me. The way I found Samantha that day, completely unresponsive. Watching the EMTs set up the equivilent of a mini ER on my dad's living room floor. Not being allowed to ride in the ambulance with her. Being met by the chaplain at the hospital. Watching a RT hand pump oxygen into her little body because she couldn't breath on her own. Knowing that they moved the rest of my family into a special waiting room and told them to be prepared to expect the worse. Having to leave my little girl, just 15 months old, because they wouldn't let me ride on the plane when she was airlifted, not knowing if I'd ever see her alive again. Having nurses waiting on you because they were afraid you might miscarry the baby you were carrying. The thought of losing two babies in the same day? Unimaginable, and yet here we were. Although all the signs pointed to it from the beginning, we were in such a fog, we didn't see it. Or we didn't want to believe it - she wasn't supposed to make it. They didn't believe she would make it. The doctors told us as much. And yet she did. Our little miracle.

I never believed in the power of prayer before that night. But as the doctors told us, there was one exact turning point, when she took her first breath on her own. No explination for what changed. For what allowed her start breathing on her own again. So I can only believe it was all of her guardian angels, those who had left us too soon, making sure my little girl made it. There were so many divine interventions that night that I can't believe any different. And for all of those people who helped us that night - from the staff at the hospital, to the prayer groups that were formed for her and most especially our family, I am forever and eternally greatful.

I still have my beautiful girl. She is a thriving 5 year old who's milestones I've gotten to witness. Who's future I'll be able to experience. Yet those memories still haunt me. I have to wonder, how these other parents go on? I am utterly amazed at the strength and courage they have. Because no parent should ever have to experience that kind of loss. So today, my heart goes out those families who have had to say goodbye to a child.