As I write this, it has been exactly 12 weeks since Dr. Egan reported back on her CT scan. Twelve weeks since he said that he was going to do his best, but this was "bad", the worst thing she has had to battle.
Twelve weeks since we were thrown a curveball that should have been thrown to someone else. Murderers, rapists, abusers... anyone but her.
Twelve weeks since I stood by, frozen, listening to her doctors debate her stability and how far they could move her. Interventional radiology or the operating room? They wanted both but they were on opposite sides of the world it seemed.
Twelve weeks since I waited, praying to God that Andy would make it to the hospital.
Twelve weeks since her surgeon walked into the room and, for even a moment, I had hope that if anyone could save her it was him.
Twelve weeks since I held her soft, fragile little fingers in mine, begging her to keep fighting.
Twelve weeks since I've felt her silky, blond hair, finally growing back in from what should have been her hardest trial in life.
Twelve weeks since my children had to kiss a baby sister goodbye.
Twelve weeks since I cradled my princess in my arms for the last time as she left this horrible, unfair world.
Twelve weeks since my heart was ripped from my chest and left in room 6115.
Twelve weeks.
Twelve weeks since we were thrown a curveball that should have been thrown to someone else. Murderers, rapists, abusers... anyone but her.
Twelve weeks since I stood by, frozen, listening to her doctors debate her stability and how far they could move her. Interventional radiology or the operating room? They wanted both but they were on opposite sides of the world it seemed.
Twelve weeks since I waited, praying to God that Andy would make it to the hospital.
Twelve weeks since her surgeon walked into the room and, for even a moment, I had hope that if anyone could save her it was him.
Twelve weeks since I held her soft, fragile little fingers in mine, begging her to keep fighting.
Twelve weeks since I've felt her silky, blond hair, finally growing back in from what should have been her hardest trial in life.
Twelve weeks since my children had to kiss a baby sister goodbye.
Twelve weeks since I cradled my princess in my arms for the last time as she left this horrible, unfair world.
Twelve weeks since my heart was ripped from my chest and left in room 6115.
Twelve weeks.
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| The last photo I have of her perfect, unobstructed, little face. (October 5th) |
Kim, Thank you for being honest with your post and keeping them real. I know there is nothing that I could say that could help what you and your family are going through. But just wanted you to know that reading your blog post helps me in some many ways. I won't go into the details but just wanted you to know that.
ReplyDeleteIt is unfair; the most unfair cut in our human experience, to lose a child. When my husband was diagnosed terminal, people would offer to pray for healing and we said to pray for healing for a child with cancer instead. I know not how you breathe. Keep writing it out. Sending you all my love, and prayers for your family, never ceasing.
ReplyDeleteI often walk by her room and think of her and pray for you and your family. I see her face when i'm pissed off about school. I see her face when I am ready to just blow my kids off. I see her face when I'm tired and sick of work. Her beautiful face inspires me to continue on this path of nursing. She will never be forgotten in our home nor by the nurses, drs., or other staff that took care of her.
ReplyDelete