Annabelle's blog (February, 2008)

(This is the last of the entries I copied on to this blog from my "Annabelle Elizabeth" blog. People had been asking about it after I had made it private so I thought I would bring it back here, minus the pictures.)

I have found myself sharing the story of Annabelle's death with many people. Unexpectedly, it will come spilling out, probably shocking my listener. I will never forget two of my closest friends' faces across the table from me at a Thai restaraunt. Maybe it wasn't the right time, but, I couldn't stop myself. I shared what happened and they sat staring at me stricken. I guess I feel the need to tell people because, I know they are wondering, and because it feels good to allow people to share in my sorrow, to hurt along with me.

This past year was surprising. We had prepared for Annabelle to die within the first days of her life. Not only did she survive, she lived abundantly! Sure, there were many colds, but, nothing serious. No surgeries, no feeding tube, no oxygen, never even once. The doctors were beginning to say, "hey, we don't know how long this child will live...maybe two years....maybe ten." And, I was getting used to it. I was so ready to be a mother of a disabled child. I wanted to build a house with wheelchair access and stay up with her every night of my life. I would have done anything for her, I was ready for it. I had gotten to the point that I wasn't scared anymore.

We probably won't ever know exactly what happened. She had a cold. We took two trips to the ER, one at Childrens in Seattle and the other in Walla Walla. There was no pneumonia, no fever, no dehydration. But, she wasn't eating. It was as though her body was shutting down. She became constipated and when that was finally relieved she seemed to just disappear. Christmas eve morning she stopped breathing. We called an ambulance, Jack performed rescue breaths. They took her to the ER. Jack rode with her. I came later with Grandma Carrie. By the time we got there she had been intubated. She couldn't breath on her own. She was unresponsive, I felt like she was already gone. The doctor said she was brain dead. We had them take all the tubes out and we took her home, (Jack's parents' home in Walla Walla). One or two hours later, surrounded by our loving family she took her last breath and slipped away. She was in my arms and I was in Jacks arms. It was peaceful and exactly as I would have wanted it to happen.

When people ask how I am I say "OK", and, for the most part I am. I am OK and deeply sad at the same time. I can laugh and have fun, and that same night I can weep until I have nothing left. Some mornings I wake up with an ache in my chest and it stays with me all day. Tears will come at odd moments. There is always this feeling, a quiet hurt inside me, it is almost like a physical presence. I heard this explained by someone who lost their daughter; it is like I am looking for her and she is always at the corner of my vision and when I turn to look she is gone. It is so strange how she can be so near and so so far away, so gone. Sometimes I can feel her and smell her and see her bright eyes so clearly, other times she is a blur. I am afraid of losing memories, but, sometimes it hurts too much to try and remember.

So thank you for asking how we are. We are well. We feel blessed. There are bad days and wonderful days. I love to talk about her so please, never be afraid to ask. She is always on my mind, so you won't be bringing up what wasn't there before. I still want to write about her birth someday. I know my entries are few and far in between, so thank you for taking the time to check in on us.

Love to you all!