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You Are My Sunshine

OK I’m just going to say it. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

It’s not really a secret that I am not overly religious. We are not a regular church-going family, but certainly have our moments when we are moved to do so. We believe in God. We believe in Heaven. But we also believe in signs, symbols, psychics and mediums. We believe that those gifts come FROM God. We LOVE and RELY on prayers from others and the prayers we say ourselves…I do believe they lift us. I do believe God has a plan, though I’m mad as hell at Him for His for Kate and I was raised to believe that was perfectly okay. I would call us very spiritual people, but not specifically religious. (I’m not interested in a debate on this; my word on the matter ends here.)

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Happy 5th Birthday Katie Kat

Kate Olivia was born on Sunday, June 5th, 2011 at 4:04am weighing 7 lbs. 4 oz. and was 19 1/4 inches long. She was big being 5 weeks early but ended up in the NICU for four days.

This morning, (I kid you not) I woke up at exactly 4:04am with tingling at my scar. I think Kate woke me to remind me…she’s still here.

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Say Her Name

I read a letter by a fellow momma in grief not too long ago. She was desperate for her village to acknowledge her baby’s first heavenly birthday. I found myself nodding along to everything she wrote and to everything she asked.

Just like me, she was scared her baby would be forgotten. I know you won’t forget Kate’s sweet face or her cute little glasses. I know you’ll remember the stories I’ve told and the letters I’ve written. But, selfishly, I need more. I need more on this day than for you to hover over the options of whether to “like” or “love” something. I need details. I need to save them all up for a rainy day, publish them all in a journal or keep them for my own quiet reflection. I need to know about her…from your heart to mine.

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Four Months Since

Four months without her laugh or her sweet smile. Four months without her sincerely tender heart greeting me each morning and her little feet pounding the steps to greet me at night. Four months without her head resting on my shoulder while I read bedtime stories. Four months without learning, growing and changing. Four months without new pictures…new memories.

I miss how she made me feel. I miss being loved and being needed in that most perfect way. I miss being called mommy and I miss being her everything. I feel hollow and have lost my desire to write. Words just aren’t coming like they were. I feel so very far away from her at every turn; it feels like being lost in the dark…knowing there WAS light somewhere, if only you could just find it. But you know you never will again.

I just want my little girl. I miss her so painfully that it feels as though I’m breathing a thousand knives with every breath I take. I love her and nothing in this world is right without her. Absolutely nothing.

I know I will see her again. I will run to her and wrap her in my arms and I’m certain I will never, ever let her go. I will hold her hand, kiss her cheek, run my fingers through her hair and down the bridge of her sweet nose. I will be with her again. It’s the meantime that I can’t figure out.

Katie girl, I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry this happened…it should have NEVER happened. I love you. I miss you. Best friends forever. I promise.

Three Months Since

And so marks another Monday that will bleed into another Tuesday. Another 5:37am. Another week without my little girl. Only this time, it marks another month, too. Three months without my daughter. A quarter of a year without this slice of heaven.

Imagine that, just for a moment. You have this life – this beautiful life that you created with love. Even on the bad days, your house is full of chatter, giggles, thundering foot steps, silly songs and this…this comes-from-the-belly-shrieking laughter. You are Mommy and Daddy is Daddy and despite the twists and turns, life is so, so good. You are happy. The happiest you’ve ever been. This sweet voice…these blue eyes…this loving angel wakes you up every morning and kisses you good night every night. You have everything you ever wanted. You. Are. Complete.

Then one day…it’s just GONE. It is gone, because the number one cause of death by disease in children STOLE HER FROM YOU. You didn’t worry about this, of course, because even though she had cancer before, it was “the good kind.” The kind that you would be told “would be just a blip on the radar of her life.” You don’t worry about relapse because your daughter kicked cancer to the curb and the success rate of this type is SO HIGH.

You were ignorant. And naive. There is no good cancer, no sure-fire win or beatable cancer. They are all made from hell and nothing is guaranteed, no matter how much you will it to be so. On average, 17% of children diagnosed with cancer will die within 5 years of diagnosis. Kate got 29 months, almost to the day.

I will never see this face again. I will never get to tell her how she changed me; how much I love her. I will never get to tell her how proud I am to be her mommy and how much I miss her. How because of her, the world was just better. Good. And how without her, the void seems endless and unable to be filled.

I have hugged the necks of too many other parents missing their babies from their arms. I have looked into the eyes of too many other mothers terrified their child could be just like Kate. I have too many friends who lost their children to this war and I know too many more who could.

All because of childhood cancer. Learn the facts. Get involved…do SOMEthing. If you don’t have ideas, I do. Ask me. Because three months ago it was my girl. Tomorrow it could be yours.

When Does This Get “Easier??”

When, exactly, is this supposed to start getting “easier?” Please don’t misunderstand and think I’m actually asking for you to attempt to answer that. Every book, every counselor, every grief blog I’ve read convinces me that everyone does this at their own pace. I get it. I also don’t want you to think that I truly believe it ever WILL get easier. Different, maybe, though I’m unsure how. Every day is different without her.

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