Say Cheese!

There she was... right next to me in the grocery check-out aisle.  A sweet little baby girl, about 6 months old with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes, sitting in the front of her parents' shopping cart.  She was staring right at me, like she knew my secret grief.  I couldn't take my eyes off of her.  And then it happened...  


...she hiccuped, a sweet funny baby hiccup.  And I lost it.


I had been having such a good day.  The sun was shining.  Birds were chirping.  It was the kind of day that makes you feel so thankful to be alive.  I had gone to the grocery store without John, who was laid up in bed with a stomach bug.  It felt so good to make a grocery list and do something totally boring and normal.  For weeks now, our lives have felt anything BUT normal.  I zoomed through the aisles, humming to myself, picking up cans of chicken noodle soup for John, happy to be out in the real world and trying to pick up the pieces.  Until I saw her...


When that little girl hiccuped, I was instantly reminded of my Callie.  She hiccuped all the time in the womb.  And I loved it!  Every hiccup was a reminder of her living presence inside of me.  I would imagine what those hiccups would sound like when she was born.  There is just something so precious about baby hiccups, isn't there?  It is the cutest sound in the world... but, sadly, I will never hear my baby hiccup.  


I think often about how alive Callie felt to me when she was in the womb.  She kicked me, did somersaults, rolled around, and hiccuped over and over again.  I would poke her and she would poke me back.  When John would read to her at night she would become so active, like she was thrilled to hear her daddy's voice.  And then, when she was truly alive, born into this world, she suddenly looked and felt so lifeless.  She never opened her eyes or moved on her own accord.  Besides her first faint cry, she was silent.  How could she go from being so full of life before being born, to being alive but barely hanging on?


I often get sad thinking about how we only had such a short time with Callie.  She only lived for 35 hours...  but really she was "alive" for much longer than that.  To me, Callie's life began the moment we found out I was pregnant.  Every ultrasound was a private photo shoot of her precious body growing and forming inside of me.  I can still remember the ultrasound technician telling us that we were going to have our hands full because Callie was a wild child who would not sit still for a second.  I felt those first flutters of movement very early... at 16 weeks!  John took video of her rolling around in my belly and we laughed and laughed at how that looked from the outside.  


Now those videos are so special to me because they are tangible proof that Callie was alive.  Alive for much longer than 35 hours.  My body was a safe place for her.  She was warm and snug, and, judging from her acrobatics, very happy.  I totally understand now why Jessica Alba named her second baby girl Haven.  She was born with the amniotic sac still intact surrounding her at birth.  I thought it was such a weirdo movie star name at first.  But now, I totally get it.  The womb is a haven and it is our babies' first home.  Callie depended on me for survival and as soon as the cord was cut, in the harsh reality of that operating room, her heart stopped beating.  I feel proud that I kept her safe for so long, but so sad that I could do nothing to help her after birth.


I am so thankful that we have so many pictures of Callie.  The doctors and nurses gently nudged us to take them but I was scared to at first.  Everything was so frightening and I wasn't sure that I wanted to remember Callie that way.  But, oh I am so glad now that we did.  I can't tell you how many times I look at those photos to remember her sweet face.  The doctors had also mentioned an organization called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep that provides free photography for parents who have lost their babies.  I wish so badly a photographer could have been available when we needed one, but unfortunately, it couldn't be arranged in the time that we had with Callie.  Another comfort to me is taking the time to look back at the pictures and videos we took of my growing baby bump.  They are just as much a part of Callie's life as the pictures that were taken after she was born. 


To those of you reading who have children, have a baby on the way, or you dream of having one some day... I encourage you to document your baby's life well.  And I'm not just talking about when your baby is born...  life starts long before that.  Take pictures of your belly growing even if you feel like a giant whale.  You don't have to post them on Facebook for the whole world to see.  Put them in a scrapbook...  your baby will love looking at pictures of him or herself in your tummy one day.  Take video of your stomach moving around with that wiggly baby inside of you.  If you are on your second or third baby and you are so busy with life that you don't take that many pictures any more... make a promise to yourself right now to bust out that camera and capture those wiggly tooth smiles, moments of bed head cuteness, or even teenage zits.  Despite the fact that Callie's pictures remind me of my greatest sadness, they also are my greatest joy.  There is true beauty in every moment... even the most painful ones.


 Life is short.  Say cheese!

A Bad Case of the Shoulds

Right now, I am suffering from a terrible case of the "shoulds".  What is that, you say? 


The Shoulds:  noun a condition in which an affected person continually fixates on all of the things one should be doing, but cannot do due to unchangeable circumstances.


I should be rocking a baby to sleep.  I should be taking her to doctors appointments.  I should be kissing her little toes and fingers.  I should be covered in spit-up and changing disgusting blow-out diapers.  I should be blissfully happy....  but I'm not.


Instead, I am alone.  No baby.  Silence.  Emptiness.  And it's not fair.  Seriously, even Snooki gets to have a baby?!?  A little meatball in the oven.  And I am sure that her baby will be born perfectly fine (and hopefully tan).  Why should she be so blessed and not us?  


For weeks, we have been trying to be patient as we waited for the results of Callie's genetic testing.  John and I both looked forward to finally getting some answers.  On Wednesday, we finally got the phone call we had been waiting and waiting for.  The genetics team at D.C. Children's called and told us that they confirmed that Callie had Neonatal Marfan Syndrome, a genetic disorder that affects the connective tissue in the body.  We will go on Tuesday to meet with the head genetics doctor to discuss Callie's diagnosis in more detail.


As John shared the details of his conversation, I waited for the feeling of relief that I had hoped would come with this phone call... relief at having an answer.  But, relief never came.


Instead, I was flooded with flashbacks and haunted memories from our short time with Callie.  I was consumed with images of her long, slender fingers and floppy wrists.  I relived the moment of her birth and the agony of not hearing her cry.  I was once again in the NICU, seeing her so pale and hooked up to all those tubes.  I fell deep into my grief and sorrow.


And I also felt afraid...  if Callie had Marfans, a genetic disorder, does one of us have it too?  Will we ever be able to have healthy babies?  I'm afraid of everything right now.  I can't stand it when John drives away for work.  What if he gets into an accident?  Our dog Lily was limping... What if she has cancer?  I know these fears are unlikely, but after losing our baby, I know that you can't say it won't happen... because it could.  It could!!!!!!!!!  

This week I am struggling to see the positive, the silver lining.  I know it is there... and I know I will find it again.  But grief is like that.  It steals your happiness and threatens to eat you alive.  When I am feeling the most downhearted, I get out our pictures of Callie and I find the one that I took trying to capture what it looked like to be lying right next to her, face-to-face.  I remember her little lips and chin, her baby smell.  I turn my head to the side when I am looking at it so that I can pretend I am curled up in bed next to her.  I talk to her and tell her how much I miss her.  And then I try to picture what she will look like in heaven when I see her again.  Will she look the same?  Will she be a baby or all grown up or somewhere in between?  My granddad wrote me a note after Callie passed away that said:


Dear Kristin & John:


  God has called Callie Marie home for repairs.  The next time we see her she will have a new body and so will we.  What a wonderful day that will be!


  Callie is one more of the great reasons that drive me to try to live the rest of my days on this, God's earth, so as to ensure being a part of the celebration.
  

  May God bless you and keep you, and may His presence be a comfort to you during this trying time.


Granddad "G"


His note brings me so much comfort and I carry it with me everywhere I go.  She will have a new body.  And life on earth should be celebrated.  I don't feel much like celebrating right now, but Granddad's message sparks me to fight for hope.  And it is a fight right now.  A deep struggle within myself...  and I know there are going to be plenty of days where all I can see is gloom & doom, despair, and self-pity.  But the spark of hope is always there and I will fight to be a part of this celebration we call life... for Callie.


Right now, life is all about putting one foot in front of the other and setting small goals for myself.  Today's goals: take a long walk, find things that I can be thankful for, and... stop watching the Jersey Shore.

I Will Carry You

It's been a hard few days...   and I have no words today.  This song says everything.  Every word is perfect.

The Yellow Balloon

So, if you read my last post, you heard about my 'sign'...  the Maggiano Angel.  I had prayed for a sign that Callie was in heaven and that God was real.  Our encounter that day left me feeling relieved and, although I was (and still am) extremely sad for our loss, I felt a sense of peace wash over me from that day forward.  But for John, well... John needed a sign too.  


The Monday before her memorial service, John and I laid Callie to rest.  We had wanted to do this privately instead of waiting for the memorial...it needed to be intimate and private...  just the two of us.  It was a cold and windy day, but despite the wintry chill in the air, the sun managed to shine down upon us.  I believe she was with us that blustery afternoon.  Our pastor led us to the garden outside our church where we had decided to bury Callie's ashes.  With us, we had brought a single yellow rose and a cheery yellow balloon to release at the end of the service.  The pastor said some beautiful words, but I don't think I heard much of it at all.  It seemed so very surreal to be burying our daughter, the one we had waited those nine long months for.  Nine months of dreaming and hoping and wishing for her future...  imagining what she would look like...  how we would say her name when she got in trouble...  kissing her boo-boos when she fell... dressing her up in girly outfits... and most of all, praying that she would grow into my best friend.  And now, as we stood in the garden, all we had left of those dreams was a rose and a yellow balloon.


After he was done, the pastor showed us the plant he had bought to serve as a marker for Callie's resting spot behind the cross.  It was a beautiful and thoughtful gesture.  I laid the rose on the cold earth and John released the yellow balloon.  We cried as we watched it drift upwards with the wind.  I hoped that it would reach heaven for Callie to see.  As the balloon grew smaller and smaller in the bright blue sky, my emotions rolled over me and I looked down at the ground, sobbing and trying to wipe my eyes.  When I looked back up, the balloon was gone and I was crushed with disappointment.  I had wanted to watch it drift away until the very last minute, but had been unable to.  And now it was gone... and so was Callie.  We spent the rest of the week preparing for her memorial service that Saturday and talking with friends and family who were coming into town to be there with us as we celebrated Callie's short, sweet life.


The day before Callie's service, John came bounding into the bathroom where I was showering and said, "You're never going to believe this."  And then he started his story...


John had been praying every night for a sign...  just like me, he wanted a sign from God too.  He needed to know that Callie was in heaven and that He was in control.  Each day since Callie's death, John had struggled with the "Why?" of it all.  Why would God do this to us?  Why should children have to get sick and die?  How could a kind and benevolent God do such things?  After the Maggiano angel, my faith had grown stronger, but his had wavered...he was angry at God, very angry.  It was eating him alive and threatening to destroy his faith.  He was so consumed with these thoughts that I began to worry that he would grow cynical and lose that warmth about him that I love so much.  Like me, Callie's death had shaken his faith and he begged God for a sign.  


And then it came...  


The previous day, as he was walking the dogs around the neighborhood, John had noticed a yellow balloon caught in the weeds just around the corner from our house.  He looked at it, and it reminded him of Callie's service, but he didn't really think anything of it.  He dismissed it quickly with so many other things crowding his mind at the time.  When you are grieving it is so hard to think of anything else but your all-consuming emotions.  But then, the next morning, as John took the dogs out, there sat the little yellow balloon...  right in front of our house.  Now, it had been quite windy the night before and for that yellow balloon to come all the way around the corner, just to land right outside of our home was no coincidence.  John rushed inside to show me the little shriveled up balloon and when he told me the story of how he had seen it the day before and then again that morning, I got chills all over!  Could it be the very same balloon that we had released earlier that week??  What are the chances that someone else accidentally let go of a single yellow balloon and that it would somehow land right outside our door?? 

The yellow balloon

No matter where that balloon came from, again we knew that it was no accident.  John needed a sign... a clear, unmistakable sign that God could hear him and was standing by his side.  And when John was too dense to see the sign the first time, He blew that little yellow balloon right smack in front of his face.  We chuckle to think that God was probably shaking his head and saying, "What more do you want from me, John?"  


Each and every single night of my pregnancy, John and I had both prayed for Callie to be born healthy and strong.  After her passing, we had struggled with the fact that God had completely ignored our prayers.  But after the Maggiano angel and the yellow balloon, we knew God could hear us just fine.  But then, why?  Why answer some prayers and not others?  Well, like Garth Brooks says it best, "Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers."  We have no idea why He chose Callie to be born with a genetic disorder and then to die 35 hours later.  But now by his signs, we do know that he is listening and that there is a greater plan in store for us.  Callie's short life has already caused a domino effect greater than we will ever know.  She has impacted our lives tremendously and taught us to treasure each moment and to love deeply and without reservation.  Many of you have shared how Callie's life has changed you... and you have no idea what that means to us.  It gives meaning, to the senseless... peace, where there was none...  hope, where once there was despair.  Sometimes we all are just a little too busy to take note of the little 'signs' that are all around us.  But they are there...  you just have to slow down and look.

Our Maggiano Angel

"There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys, in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme.  If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms."

From the book, Emma by Charlotte Bronte;  referenced in the book, Empty Arms by Sherokee Ilse

Empty arms...  Where once I held our little baby girl, my arms are now achingly heavy from the emptiness that is her absence.  The days after Callie passed away were a blur of friends and family trying to do their best to comfort us.  Slowly, though, the visitors trickled away, lingering at the doorway with looks of concern and a desperate hopeless feeling of wanting to do so much, but not being able to do a single thing to help us through our grief.  John and I were left alone.  


We wanted it that way.  Well, not really.  We were supposed to be busy taking care of our newborn daughter.  No sleep.  Smelly diapers.  Baby crying.  That is what we really wanted.  But, of course, that is not the hand that we were dealt.  Instead, we were alone...  and the house was so quiet.  We needed people to leave so that we could have time to think and talk and cry... cry like I really needed to.  The kind of crying that scares people.  And I just couldn't do that to my family and friends.  John held me as I wept and wailed, night after night after night... and he still does. 


During these moments, I started to question God.  Why?  


I have always been a bit of a doubting Thomas.  I can remember asking my preacher as a young child about where the dinosaurs fit into the creation story.  It just didn't make sense to me.  And could Jesus really walk on water?  The burning bush...  really?  C'mon!  No way!  My doubts grew to the point of disbelief as a teenager.  I desperately wanted to believe, and I went to church every single Sunday.  But, my practical mind just couldn't wrap my mind around God.  What I lacked was faith.  


Very slowly, faith snuck up on me.  I can't tell you exactly where or how or when, but I started to believe, "What if?"  and "I think it might be so".  Not exactly a foundation made out of stone, but it was better than no foundation at all.  I think this rekindling of faith was largely due to marrying John.  When we first started dating, John was... well, kind of a party boy.  Not exactly the kind of person, upon first meeting him, that you would think of as a church-going, God-fearing person.  But, like so many other things about him, appearances were not what they seemed.  I learned that John was deep and had an unshakable faith in God that was quiet and not in-your-face and I liked that.  He wasn't "holier than thou"...  he was (and is) a good person, who at the time, just liked to have a little of fun... and so did I.  We both have grown up a lot since then (no more late nights at Clarendon Grill) and John has taught me a lot about faith along the way.  It is one of the million reasons that I love him so much.


And then, fast-forward to our little Callie Marie.  Her birth and death shook what little bit of faith I had to its core.  A few weeks after Callie passed away, I was in a place of desperation.  They say that experiencing a death can build one's faith, or break it down completely.  And, I was teeter-tottering somewhere on the brink of breaking down.  One night, as I prayed, I laid it out there for God.  I told Him that I was having trouble believing.  I begged and pleaded with him for a sign.  A sign that Callie was safe in heaven with Him....  that heaven existed, that He was real.  


The next day was Valentine's Day.  John had planned a romantic date for us, following the tried-and-true dinner-and-a-movie formula.  With our emotions still so raw, we wanted to do something simple and easy.  When we were seated at our table at Maggiano's, we were quickly greeted by a large man with a smooth, jazzy voice.  He was at ease and casual and chatted with us about the movies in a friendly way.  He told us of his wife and how much they had both liked the latest Denzel Washington movie.  After taking our order, he walked away and John's phone rang.  It was the call we had both been dreading.  The funeral home was calling to arrange the pick-up of Callie's ashes.  This is the kind of stuff no one tells you about having to deal with after someone passes away.  John had trouble hearing the funeral director in the noisy restaurant, so he stepped away from the table to take the call.  


Shortly after John left, the waiter came back around to top off our glasses.  He looked at me and then looked back at the glass he was pouring and said, "I feel like we've been here together in this moment, you and I.  Exactly like this moment."  The way he said it gave me goosebumps and a lump in my stomach.  "Oh, like deja vu?," I said nervously.  "No, like so much more than that.  It's hard to explain, but it's like I was meant to see you today."  And he looked up at me and smiled...  a warm smile.  Not creepy.  I swear!  I know it sounds creepy, but it wasn't.  I mumbled something like, "Oh?" and laughed it off and the waiter smiled again and walked away.  I looked down at my goosebumps and tried to figure out why exactly I had been so nervous.  Immediately, I thought about my prayer and wondered if it had anything to do with the waiter's "deja vu" moment.  When John came back, I quickly put the encounter to the back of my mind as John shared with me the details of his phone call with the funeral home.  


We continued our dinner and tried to force our minds not to think of our little baby girl being cremated.  It was a struggle to make pleasant conversation, but we managed despite the fact that I had completely lost my appetite.  About ten minutes later, John's phone rang again.  It was the funeral home calling back to clarify something.  He apologized and walked away again so that he could hear.  Sitting alone, I must have looked so sad.  I looked around the room at all the happy couples who seemed to have no troubles in the world.  If they only knew what we were going through...


Once again, the waiter stopped by our table to refill my water.  This time, in a soft voice, he proceeded to tell me a lot of things about his faith and the peaceful feeling that his belief in God gives him.  Unprompted, unasked for.  I can't even remember everything he said because my heart was pounding so loudly...  I just recall his last words being, "It's like God is talking to me and I just have to share it."  I remember wondering why I was so nervous and realizing that it was because I actually thought he was an angel...a for real angel, messenger from God, sent down to answer my desperate prayer for a sign that He was real and that Callie was in heaven with Him.  I smiled and nodded, too stunned to say anything at all.  He walked away smiling and humming a little tune to himself.  I watched him as he served other couples, and it sure didn't seem like he was having this conversation with anyone else.


When John returned, this time, I filled him in on what had happened in his absence.  I realize now that he probably thought I was completely crazy, but at the time, I really didn't care.  God was there in that restaurant, restoring my faith.  Ok, was our waiter really an angel?  I don't know.  I mean, probably not, right?  People now a day just don't see angels...  And if you do see angels, you probably also see a shrink.  But, what if?  I am reminded of the many bible stories that involve angels and how most of them described the people that encountered them as trembling in fear.  I think I know that feeling... and I'd like to think that it was more awe, than fear.  I was frozen in awe that this really could be happening... that God really could answer a prayer.  So, this waiter probably had a few screws loose and was probably not a real angel...  but I do believe that it was no accident that he was put in our paths that day.  We had changed our original dinner reservations earlier that day on a whim.  This was no accident.  And I was filled with an overwhelming feeling of relief and sense of peace.  


When the waiter came around to give John our check, he asked if I was ok and told me that he was sorry and didn't want to freak me out.  "I just love to share God with others, "he said.  I told him that I wasn't freaked out at all (ok, maybe a little!), and that I appreciated him sharing his thoughts with me.  After he left, we turned the bill over and wrote him a message that went something like this:


"Two weeks ago, we lost our baby girl.  I prayed to God last night for a sign that she was safe up in heaven with Him.  We do not think it was an accident that you were our waiter today.  Thank you so much for sharing your message with me today.  My prayer was answered thanks to you.  You will forever be our Maggiano Angel."


Sometimes, I wonder what happened when he saw that message.  We left without waiting for his reaction because we didn't really feel like talking about it.  I can picture him opening it up slowly and smiling that warm smile and shaking his head at the curious ways of the Lord.  Somehow, I think he wasn't surprised...  not surprised at all.  

Our Sunshine Angel

I think sunshine is Callie's "thing". It all started before she was even born.  John and I were so in sync when it came to boys' names. But, girls?  We were worlds apart.  Since both my husband and I work in education, we had long lists of "DO NOT NAME"s that were automatically thrown out of contention.  I rejected all of his names and he rejected all of mine.  This went on for so long that I thought we may never find a name.   One night, however, as we enjoyed a nice pasta meal John said, "How about Callie?"  And, the named warmed me up inside and made me smile.  I told him that I liked it and that was it... we tacked on Marie (John's mother's middle name) and we had a name!  Well, sort of...

I am as wishy-washy as they come.   So, naturally, I went back and forth with the name Callie.   It's a big decision after all!   I thought of every kind of mean thing a stupid bully could turn her name into.  There was "Callie-flower" like cauliflower and, of course, "calamari" if you combined her first and middle names.   Not terrible, but still, I wanted a name that was bully-proof and that spoke to the kind of little girl I wanted her to become.  Sweet, kind, and full of All-American goodness.  Was the name Callie all of those things?  I wasn't sure.

And then one day, when I was feeling particularly wishy-washy, a song came on the radio on my way to work that settled it once and for all.  The song was "Brighter Than the Sun" by Colbie Caillat.  It's the kind of song that instantly puts you in a good mood.  The sun was rising, my radio was turned way up loud, and I sang like I was a contestant on American Idol.  And it was then that I knew Callie was the name for our sweet little baby girl.  It was all sunshine and happiness and that was the perfect name for the perfect girl.

Of course, this is not the only reason sunshine is Callie's "thing".  First, there was the sunshiny yellow-striped sweater that I wore on the day I went into labor.  And later, on the day Callie passed away, we dressed her up in a onesie that looked an awful lot like that sweater... we matched!  Callie's song even before she was born was "You Are My Sunshine" and we sang it to her as a lullaby as we laid her down for her eternal resting place in heaven.   I shared my feelings with John the day we left the hospital that, in my mind, sunshine was going to be a symbol for Callie... but I didn't share that with anyone else, and neither did he.

A few days after we returned home and the news of Callie's passing had spread, I received this message from a good friend:

"I weep and weep for your sweet Callie. I hope in time the peace of knowing she is with Jesus comforts you both. I didn't get to meet her on this earth but I met her this morning on my walk. The wind is bitter and cold but I was warmed by the shine of the sun. I know that warmth is Callie smiling on us today. Go out for just a moment today and FEEL the warmth your kind daughter is giving everyone today who mourns her."

Whoa, crazy!  Another connection to sunshine!  And then a few days later, a good friend/coworker of mine brought me some sweet homemade sympathy cards from my first grade students. Seeing their cute kid-writing warmed my heart and brought me to tears. And as I was going through the pile, this little sunshine fell onto my lap:

Even crazier! No one had told this little boy that sunshine was Callie's "thing", but somehow he had known just the right thing to create to comfort me. Knowing this student and his kind heart makes this gesture even more sweet.

And then, the final sunshiny sign, came after we buried Callie's ashes a few days prior to her memorial service.   We laid Callie to rest behind the cross built in our church's prayer garden.   Later the next day, our pastor informed us that the yellow daffodils near the entrance to the church had blossomed.  He dug them up and transferred them to the prayer garden where their sunny presence could mark Callie's final resting place.  We felt like those flowers pushing up through the cold, dark earth during this late winter month were a symbol of the rebirth Callie was experiencing in her new life in heaven.

Because of these reasons, we asked everyone to wear yellow for Callie's memorial service.   The last thing we wanted was for everyone to wear black... too dreary and dark.  Callie's memorial was meant to be a positive and uplifting celebration.  I cannot even put into words how wonderful it was to look out across the church sanctuary and find a sea of yellow brightening the space.   It was cheery and beautiful and I think it was the perfect touch to help us focus on the celebration of Callie's life and everything we learned from her. She will forever be our Sunshine Angel.

Callie's Story, pt. 3...

My heart has never beat so hard as it did while we were getting dressed after that phone call.  As we rushed around trying to get ready, I felt like I couldn't breathe... like a hollow shell of myself.  John pushed my wheelchair out the back door of the hospital once again and across the bumpy parking lot that separated us from Callie.  Once inside the CICU and in Callie's room, I cried again knowing that she had had such a hard night without us.  I think only parents of babies in the NICU understand how difficult this is and was for us.  Thank goodness my aunt was there with her.  The doctors came to us and told us that Callie was somewhat stable for the time being and would be back to discuss our plan of action after the results of the EEG came back.  


So, in the time that we waited we spent precious hours holding Callie's hand and stroking her soft, soft skin.  I lay my face down next to hers so that I could study her every feature.  She had the cutest little chin with a dimple in the middle, like John's.  Her little chapped lips were so sweet.  Her delicate, long fingers, which had been so scary to me before because they were an external symbol of all of her medical problems, now seemed so dainty and perfect.  To put it simply, she was so beautiful it hurt.  I tried to take a picture of Callie the way I saw her like this, but when I pulled the camera away, I couldn't believe all of the tubes that stuck out so glaringly in the image I had just taken.  When I was up close with my own eyes, all of that stuff had faded away and what was left was a sweet little baby girl...  my baby.

Soon, our "crossroads" moment came.  The doctors shut the door and sat down across from us.  A new pediatrician was on call and she reminded me so much of my friend Katie, who is also a pediatrician, and this comforted me.  She looked me in the eye and told us what we already knew...  Callie's EEG showed that she had very little brain function and that, should she even survive the heart issues she was facing (very slim odds), that her quality of life would be very poor.  We had known this, but it still hurt... and then the doctors next words surprised me.  She said that she knew that we did not want Callie to suffer and "you are doing the right thing."  And she began to cry.  


Hearing those words was the emotional release I had been waiting for.  I crumbled into a weeping mess as I thanked the doctor for being so honest and compassionate.  I was surprised that the doctor had cried, that she actually gave her real opinion instead of giving us some politically correct speech.  She gave us the strength to make the hardest decision of our lives...  to remove Callie from life support.  My doctor friend, Katie, told me later that sometimes she comes home after working in the hospital and feels like she did everything in her power to save a baby, but none of it was the right thing to do.  Being a parent in this situation is so hard, but it must also be so difficult to be a doctor or nurse who has to go through this time after time.  John and I had made it very clear to the doctors that we did not want Callie to go through agony and pain and suffering.  We knew that her time on earth was going to be short.  With this single decision, we gave ourselves to Callie fully.  We chose to let God take her and keep her, with us by her sides loving her and caring for her.  At the crossroads, we chose the path that led Callie to an eternal life of peace in heaven.  And it broke our hearts into a hundred thousand pieces.  Later, my aunt Cindy told me that there really was no choice to be made.  Callie's body could not sustain her life.  Cindy had watched her fight through the night and knew.  God had already made the choice for us.  I appreciate those words from her more than she'll ever know.


We called in the priest from the hospital and gathered our friends and family together once again.  He blessed Callie Marie and performed a beautiful service right there in the hospital room.  During one of the prayers, I snuck a peek through my tears at all of the love that surrounded us and Callie.  It was so moving and I was so thankful to have all of them there with us.  How sad it would have been for us for them to not have met Callie at all!  I'm so glad they got to be a part of her life.


After allowing some time for us to gather ourselves, the doctors explained how the rest of Callie's time on Earth would work...  we would celebrate her life!  I cannot tell you how grateful I am to the staff at Children's Hospital for holding our hands through this time and helping us to build memories with our little girl who we knew would not stay with us long.  First on the agenda for celebration was to give Callie a bath!  John and I were so excited to take pictures of the nurse giving her her first bath, but when she looked at us she said, "Me?  Oh no, you are giving her a bath!"  We literally laughed out loud with joy... that's right, JOY!  You may find it hard to believe, but there were moments during this day where John and I were bursting with joy and happiness.  And this was one of them.


So... anyone who has given their first newborn baby a bath knows that it's kind of awkward.  You are nervous.  You don't want to hurt them.  You're still getting used to holding them without thinking they will break at any moment.  Now try it when your baby is hooked up to a bunch of machines in a CICU!  Callie's first bath was downright comical.  John and I laughed and giggled as we tenderly washed our baby girl and tried to remember what the lady in the baby care class had taught us.  It was probably the worst bathing job ever, but we didn't care.  She looked beautiful!  I hope that Callie could hear our laughter and feel our loving touches during her first bath.

Callie's first bath

Afterwards, I put a fresh diaper on Callie's tiny little bootie and then John and I shared the job of getting her dressed.  We had bought Callie a beautiful going home outfit on the day we found out we were having a girl and had had so much fun packing her diaper bag with cute clothes to wear at the hospital.  I still cry at the thought of that memory... but none of those things were with us.  Our car, and Callie's bag, was still at the hospital where we delivered her.  Due to some generous and thoughtful donations, Children's had a selection of baby clothes that we could choose from.  (This is also where we received her cute fleece blanket that now rests with us in our bed.)  Everything was gender neutral so we chose the yellow striped onesie that looked so very much like the sweater that I had worn on Callie's due date.  It was sunshiny and happy just like Callie.  The nurse also brought out headbands for Callie to wear. There were three:  one pink, one blue, and one white.  John chose the pink... and thank god that thing did not fit her head, because, seriously??   Pink with a yellow outfit?!?  I could not have my baby looking all mismatched!  Happily, the white one fit and she looked so adorable all dressed up.

And then, John and I got to do the one think we had been aching to do since Callie was born.  We got to hold her in our arms.  The nurse gently maneuvered Callie, with all of her tubes and cords, into my arms.  Only mothers can know the overpowering feeling of love that rushes over you in that moment of first holding the child that has grown inside of you for nine months.  I was overcome with emotion as I rocked her and spoke to her.  I tried to burn her image into my mind forever.  She smelled so sweet and her skin was that kind of soft that only babies can be.  Her breathing tube did a little snorting sound every time it gave Callie a breath and it made her sound like a little piglet.  I know that is a sad image, but to me the sound was precious and so cute.  I kissed her over and over and over again until it was John's turn to hold her.  Watching John hold Callie tore me up inside.  The sight of his big, strong arms holding our little girl so tenderly and lovingly made me fall even more in love with him.  I didn't know that was actually possible, but it was.  Those of you that know John, know that he was so excited to be a dad.  Actually, excited is probably an understatement.  I have never, ever seen a man be so ecstatic about having a baby.  He embraced having a little girl and couldn't wait to become completely wrapped around her little finger.  God, it breaks my heart.  He is such a good daddy.

 

The doctors told us to take as much time as we wanted with Callie, but that was impossible... If we could have it our way, we would have taken an eternity.  The time had come to say goodbye.  When the doctors asked us who would like to hold her, we replied that we wanted to share holding her and so they graciously moved a giant sofa across the room just so that we could sit next to each other and hold Callie together.  And then there we were, at the moment no parent ever dreams of.  We held her and kissed her and talked to her and told her not to be scared.  We told her that we would see her again one day.  Our pastor joined us during this time and we are so glad that he could help us through it and say one more blessing over Callie as she left our arms for the arms of God.  The doctor told us, "I'm sorry.  She's gone."  35 hours of life... gone.  She's gone.  Leaving Callie behind in that room is a memory that will haunt me forever.  My arms felt so empty without her.  


We are left behind to wonder, "What happened?"  Why?  Why?  Why?  We will never know.  All we can do is put one foot in front of the other and trust that God has a plan for us that is bigger than we can comprehend.  I believe that He chose John and I to be Callie's parents for a very special reason, one that we are still trying to understand.  I am a silver lining kind of person... you know, the kind of person that annoyingly tries to find the positive in everything when you are just looking to vent?  Well, I think that as awful as losing Callie has been, there has also been so much good.  I look forward to sharing those good things with you all over time through this blog and I hope that, at the very least, after reading about our experiences that you reach out to the ones you love and give them the biggest hug you've ever given.  Because at the end of the day, love is all that matters. Love like you've never loved before and never look back.  And do not take one single moment for granted...even the crappy ones... because even the ugly parts of life are so incredibly beautiful.