Written in Stone

You never expect to have to pick out your child's grave. When you see the positive sign on the pregnancy test, you never in your wildest nightmares think to yourself that you will have to pick a spot to lay them in the ground in a casket, instead of in a crib in their room. This is every parents worst nightmare. This scenario is what people are imagining when they tell you that they just can't imagine what you are going through. Its an awful thing to have to do.

It was a very hot day in July when we picked out the spot we would lay Koralyn's body down in. The sun and its heat seemed extra cruel that day. We drove to the cemetery meeting our pastor and the caretaker to decide on a grave spot. We of course started in the baby and child section of the historic cemetery. They indeed have a special place to bury babies and children, because for so many the unimaginable happens everyday. I can understand why some moms and dads would want to bury their child in this section. In some strange way its a comfort to know your child's body is lying next to other precious children gone too soon. When you go, you are reminded of a mother's love because the baby section is usually the most decorated part of the cemetery. There are always balloons and flowers and special trinkets marking the graves.It reminds the aching mother's heart that she isn't alone in her grief, when she sees the other well cared for graves. A strange and sad comfort indeed.  It almost looks like a happy place where children might play, if it weren't for the stones marking the graves, indicating death resides there.

So it made sense that the caretaker would assume I would want my sweet Koralyn in that section as well. I remember in my shock and haze standing in front of the open plots we could choose from. There seemed to be no shade or respite from the heat of the Texas sun. I stood there hearing the nearby traffic stream by. Proof that the world was still turning even though I needed it to halt, if only for a moment. All I could think in that moment was how hot it was and how exposed it all seemed. Exposed to the cruel summer sun and the road where passerby could gawk at the sad sad baby graves as they drove past. I couldn't have my Koralyn in this spot, I hated it. I felt sick and I wanted to run. The caretaker in his Bermuda shorts and his Carnival Cruise t-shirt told us he had a few plots in the older historic part of the cemetery. I told him I wanted to see those please, so we all loaded back into our cars and drove to the back section of the property. We got out in a spot with two huge trees and several family plots around. I felt relieved. This spot was so much more beautiful to me. Surrounded by trees, other mothers and children and near the back of the cemetery instead of right up front. It felt safe. We talked about how I could install a bench and sit in the shade when I came to visit. We agreed this would be our girl's spot and eventually mine and Amos' as well. No matter where we ended up, our final place would be next to our sweet Koralyn. Amos said he wanted to be next to her so that others who came to this sacred place knew she wasn't alone. Our other children may choose to be buried somewhere else with a spouse, but Koralyn didn't get that choice. So we will eventually be placed next to her. In a way so that the world will know she wasn't forgotten or discarded. That she continued to matter to us through all our years. I can't tell you the love I felt for my husband, knowing he wanted to protect and honor our daughter even in death.

Fresh mounds of dirt above a grave is heartbreaking for the loved ones. 

We picked our spots and a day or two later we all came and watched as a tiny casket was lowered into the ground. In the days and weeks that followed I visited often, seeing the mound of dirt slowly settle back into the ground. We went and picked out a small pink stone with birds and a cross between Koralyn's birth date and death date. The cross instead of a dash, to remind us of our Hope. Christ was there in that time between those two days and he is still here now. Helping us breathe on our worst days and rejoicing with us on our best. That tiny cross between those dates reminds me that I can live because He lives. Christ lives after first dying on a cross for each of us, including my sweet Koralyn. This tiny pink stone in the shade of the trees has been a sacred place for me to go these last 4 years.The one place left on earth that is just Koralyn's and I can still mother her and take care of that spot for her. Visiting often, making sure it clean and always has flowers. Bringing different decorations for the holidays we celebrate. A heart for Valentines Day, A tiny tree for Christmas, balloons on her birthday. Her spot has helped me in my grief and in my need to still be her mother somehow while on this earth. I know she isn't there but I would like to think that she sees me taking care of her little corner on this earth, she knows it is because I love her and long to care for her still. Graves are more a comfort for the living than anything else really, and Koralyn's is no different.

The evening after she was buried we took this sweet wreath her nurses had bought for her to put on her grave. Her Pink Casket spray above that, was donated free of charge by Roberta's Flowers in Midlothian. Such sweet gestures to our grieving hearts. 

I have always loved to sit and just watch the trees in the breeze or hear the birds and look out over a large portion of the cemetery. One afternoon I decided to visit and I saw a large plot of concrete extremely close to Koralyn's headstone. Now in the historic part of the cemetery there aren't really any rules about grave placement or size. The caretaker told us that when we chose that spot and I acknowledged it, never thinking it would be a concern. There weren't any overly huge gravestones and while I knew there was someone buried in the spot above Koralyn, we had placed her stone traditionally at her head and facing East. I assumed the people above us would do the same, giving us our adequate space between. Turns out, I am pretty naive.

One of her birthdays. Our sweet, quiet spot.

My first thought when seeing the big rectangle of concrete was that someone close to me had decided to have a bench installed! I have always mentioned wanting one in that space to be able to sit on instead of always plopping myself on the ground. I whimsically thought some kind soul had decided to give a bench as a gift to us. Maybe Amos' was surprising me or a close friend. I held out this hope in the weeks and months that followed. I would drive by nearly every week expecting to see the finished product. Always holding my breath as I turned the corner, hopeful that it was indeed a bench and not some obnoxious grave marker. Months seemed to go by and my anticipation had waned because each time I would go to see progress, the same old rectangle of concrete would be sitting in the ground. The day I asked Amos to drive by I wasn't expecting to see anything but the rectangle of concrete. We had all of our kids with us that day and it was shaping up to be a busy week at the end of the school year. I wasn't expecting to be gut punched and sucked into a massive wave of grief when I asked him to take me to Koralyns spot, making it hard to function over the next coming days. As we rounded the corner it came into view. Black, long, tall and huge. Right on top of my baby's grave. The angel looking down on the four stones placed in front of her. Her back facing my daughter's headstone. There were indeed two small black benches on either side as well. Once again, I felt shock as I slowly got out of the car and tried to process what I was seeing. We walked around it, taking it all in. Amos said he couldn't believe it, we were going to have crappy neighbors even in death (our luck with neighbors hasn't been the best, we have been robbed by some, littered on by some and taken advantage of by some) So his comment made me chuckle and agree. I think I felt the five stages of grief standing there looking at that grave. Shock, denial, anger,  well maybe not all of them, acceptance was not something I felt at that point. The boys had questions and I was trying to watch my words and reactions in front of them. Not wanting to say or do the wrong thing and be a bad example in this moment of grief.

I hate that Koralyn's grave looks off center now

So close

These stones sit at their feet instead of their heads

We eventually loaded back up and drove home. As the day wore on the wave of grief seemed to overtake me. I couldn't seem to understand why this person had decided their grave, which had been unmarked for 4 years, needed to be gigantic and placed basically right on top of my daughters headstone. It felt so cruel. There had to be a mistake. It was such an intrusion. My heart was breaking all over again. This place I thought was safe was being violated. It just felt as though the person was saying, your tiny grave doesn't matter, I don't care that your daughter is buried here. She had chosen to place her family headstone at the foot of her loved ones graves instead of at the head, essentially hiding my daughters grave from view and in my mind making it look like an afterthought compared to her epic monument. My heart hurt. I was worn and angry. It felt like just another blow. Another blemish, another gaping wound on something I thought was untouchable. I suppose this is why the caretaker mentioned the lack of rules. I suppose this is why most modern cemeteries have rules about size and placement of headstones. So that someone can't come along and put their gigantic monument on top of a baby's grave. I guess next time I pick a final resting place I will choose one with an HOA...

Needless to say everything was feeling very heavy that day. That evening I had to take Asa to his counseling session. My plan was to sit in silence in the waiting room while he was in with the counselor. I was in such a bad state of mind and a few minutes alone in a quiet room seemed like what I needed. A small respite from the demands of the day. Asa went in with his counselor and I sat there in that office feeling so weary and worn. I have been struggling over the last several months having several really hard days. After seeing our new cemetery neighbors I just felt so low and desperate. Desperate for rest from this life that seems so hard. I wanted to crawl out of my skin and just be someone else for a few days. Not the woman who has lost both parents and a daughter all in different and tragic ways. I wanted to remember what it felt like not to carry the weight of death and grief around each day. That freedom of not being a bereaved mother or daughter. I sat in that chair silently crying out to God. Telling Him how tired I was. How I needed Him to show up, I needed to feel His presence, needed Him to carry me. I asked him to help me come to terms with our new graveyard neighbors, help me to have perspective and grace somehow.

As I sat there silently praying for help Karis woke up in her carseat and had begun to not just cry, but scream really. I couldn't get her out and feed her fast enough it would seem. The little office building where Asa sees his counselor is home to several businesses and we were sitting in a little common waiting area. it is all tiled and open to the offices down the hall so you can imagine it can get loud and everything seems to echo. I was in such a bad mood, usually I can fake a smile but I just didn't have it in me that day. As I got Karis out her cries seemed to grow even louder. A woman came down the hall to make sure that someone hadn't left a baby at the door. Her words, not mine. I can't remember what she said before that but I just wasn't having it, I didn't want some lady talking to me during the one hour that I didn't have all four kids. I didn't want to be social. She sat down across from me and inwardly I groaned. She asked me all about Karis so I begrudgingly lightened up and told her. This of course lead to how many children we both had. Hers were all grown now and she even had two small grandchildren. This woman had the sweetest demeanor about her. She didn't mind that I basically growled at her when she walked up (I thought she was going to tell me to quiet my baby down or leave or worse let me know what she thought of my horrible parenting skills) I must have looked a sight as well. I had been crying most of the afternoon so I was red faced and puffy, not to mention my exhaustion was showing. This kind woman, with her sweet smile and her soft voice sat and talked to me for thirty minutes or more. She told me that she worked for a hospice company. She herself had cared for her mother in her home until her death. I told her about losing my mom and of course my sweet Koralyn. I opened up and confessed that I was having a very rough day and I told her about Koralyn's grave and our new neighbor. She listened and her eyes and words were filled with compassion. Eventually she stood to go saying that she had to get to a hospice consult in town. Before she turned to leave she looked at me and asked, "Can I pray for you and with you right now?" She sat back down and took my hand. We bowed our heads and she began to pray over me. She thanked God for me and asked for him to help me not carry guilt but to have grace for myself and peace in my circumstances. At the end of the prayer she thanked God that we had both listened to the Holy Spirit and been open to talking to one another in that moment in time.  Her prayer was balm to my aching soul. This woman and her kindness breathed life back into me. We finally stood and she hugged me. I thanked her for her love and compassion and told her how much I needed that prayer. She smiled at me and walked out into the sunshine, leaving me to sit in awe of a God who hears our cries and cares for us in our sorrows.

I sat there amazed at God's mercy. Not an hour before I was telling Him I couldn't take a step further. The drudgery of everyday life and the weight of grief had me drowning it seemed. I was weary and worn and I needed Him to show up. Boy did He show up. This kindhearted woman became His hands and feet for me that evening. She turned the corner and saw me all red faced and weary and decided to stop and hear my story. She was busy and on her way out but she felt a nudge to stop and so she did.  She shared her story with me as well, speaking of both her joy, and her pain, and how God has been in all of it.  I can't tell you her name, it was on her name tag, but sadly I am awful with names, always have been. I can see her face now though, and hear her words of empathy and affirmation. She was a gift to me, she helped me to remember that God hears and gives us what we need. She helped me to know there are still a lot of good and kind people in the world who care and love others when they see a need. She helped me remember that fellowship with fellow believers is sweet, oh so sweet; even when you only meet for a brief moment in time. I hope one day God gives me an opportunity to do the same for someone else who is hurting and worn. I don't remember her name, but I will never forget her and I can imagine one day in eternity we will meet. We will hug and laugh and she will know what her kindness did for my soul on that day.

As months have passed I have come to terms with our new graveyard neighbors. Yes it still hurts and sometimes I want to cry out about how unfair it feels. But just as God answered my prayer that day for strength He is helping me to accept this thing I cannot change and see it with new eyes. It helps me to remain humble, it helps me to remember to see other's grief and not just my own. It helps me to focus on the fact that this fallen world is indeed not our home, especially when our names and the date of our birth and death is written in stone and placed on the ground to mark where our body lies. The woman who decided to place the grave so close to Koralyn's has buried her husband, a grown son, and two infants. If I were her, I would want a big  monument too. Each time I go and my humanness wants me to be angry and bitter, I rely on God's grace and try to think of the pain she has endured. How now we share this sacred space, me and her. She comes to take care and honor her loved ones the same way I do. God asks us to walk humbly and to love deeply. Sometimes, most times if  I am being honest, I fail at this. Each time I visit Koralyn's spot now, I am reminded. Walk humbly and love deeply, even when it hurts and seems unfair. I would like to think one day Mrs. Pope and I will meet in heaven as well. We will laugh at the brevity of all these earthly possessions we try so hard to grasp. I will meet her children and she will meet mine and all will be well with our souls.

I have to admit, I thought this shadow was pretty neat.
It looks as though the angel is looking down at Koralyn's stone.

Missing Mom

      I have been missing my Mom more then usual lately. It's sort of like a dull ache that won't go away, with sharp stabbing pains every once in awhile. Triggered by a memory, or a smell or seeing something familiar.

    Mother's Day weekend was very hard this year. I try my best to celebrate my Mom's life instead of focusing on her death and her absence. I do good most days, but sometimes the pain and the ache, it just comes and it demands attention. Fighting it is useless. The best thing to do is acknowledge its presence and welcome it in for awhile.

   It started when all the Mother's Day items began popping up in stores. The usual things, cards, flowers, coffee mugs and jewelry. Then the commercials on TV and even the radio. The ones about your mother and how much she has done for you. The reminders are everywhere this time of year, it can't be avoided it seems. I know that I am a mother and therefore the holiday is for me now as well. Yet I will always and forever be a daughter, before I am a mother. It is just the way of things. Right now I have more years of celebrating my Mother than I do of celebrating my mothering. So to me, Mother's Day brings with it, fresh memories and a flood of pain. A longing for the should have been I suppose.

When I flew out to help plan my Mother's funeral and bury her, the outpouring of love from her school where she worked was just amazing. She was a secretary, had been for most of my life. Working at many different schools along the way, wearing many hats. She was always endearing her
 co-workers to her, with her sense of humor, her ability to relate and her bend towards compassion and empathy. My mom didn't waste her pain, she used it to relate to others when given the chance.

My sister and I went to her school in the first days following her death. Vista Grande Elementary School.  It was so amazing to see the cards from the children and the staff. So many words of encouragement and love for us to take in. There were little gifts and flowers left by many of the students as well. I remember walking over to her work area. She had several pictures of Koralyn hanging on her cabinet for anyone who passed to see. There were filing boxes sitting atop an adjacent desk with her name written on them in her very distinct handwriting. It made my heart ache for her, sting with pain. Sitting next to her keyboard was a piece of chocolate cake. I remember one of my nephews saying to me; look Aunt Kenda, Grandma was eating cake! I laughed and told him no, I am sure someone is filling in for her and that is their piece of cake. I was kindly corrected by her sweet co-worker who told me, no, indeed that was my mom's piece of cake. They all knew how much my mom adored cake so they had gone out that morning and bought one. They cut a piece and placed it in her spot for her. It was just so sad and so sweet. We stood and laughed about how much my mom loved cake. Talking about her frequent advice that if you skipped a meal, you could have your cake and eat it too! Growing up, she often allowed us to eat cake for breakfast. She would laugh and tell us that it was fine because after all, a piece of cake had all the ingredients of a good breakfast. Milk, eggs, flour. Every once in awhile I will still enjoy a big slice of cake for breakfast, and like my mom cake is by far my favorite dessert!

Just a small portion of what filled the office.
Mom loved Vista Grande and Vista Grande loved her! 

The VGE Table at her service.
Filled with all the tokens of love and care from her school. 

After we reminisced about my Mom's love of cake, I continued to look around her desk. She died the Sunday after Mother's Day in 2012. That year of course I spent my Mother's Day in the NICU with my sweet Koralyn. Weeks earlier I had fretted over what to send my Mom that year. Of course it had to be something I could make or order on the internet. To be honest I dreaded giving my Mom gifts. She wasn't too easy to buy for, and I had seen several of my gifts to her stashed in drawers around her home when I would go to visit. It was kind of a running joke actually. That year I decided to make her a gift using Shutterfly and a recent picture I had taken of my boys in the Texas Bluebonnets. A sweet pictures of brothers holding hands and exploring. I made her a pen holder for her desk at work. It was a simple and practical gift. I had hoped she would actually be able to get some use out of it and enjoy seeing the boys everyday sitting on her desk. So when I went to her space and it was sitting right there in her spot full of pens, I was just struck. I stood there staring at it. Her friend Gail, walked up to me and smiled. She told me that my Mom was so proud of this simple gift. She had gushed and talked about how busy and overwhelmed I must have been, and what it meant that I still took the time to send her a gift for Mother's Day.

That pen holder now sits on this desk I am typing from. I am not sure Gail even remembers the moment, or the words she said to me that day. I will never forget those life giving words she spoke to me. To know my Mom thought of my effort and knew I worked hard to show her I cared, it just really meant so much in that horrible moment. That story Gail told to me was such a gift. It still warms my soul now when I look over at the pen holder. My Mom, she knew in that small simple gift that I was thinking of her, that I cared enough to make an effort even in the dark season I was in. Knowing she knew the true intent of my simple gift is priceless. I take comfort in the fact that even though it was hard and I made and sent that gift while sitting by my daughter's hospital bed; it was well worth it. Her last Mother's Day gift from me, is now a gift to me. Reminding me, that even the small efforts made out of love matter. That they may indeed matter more when it seems harder to give of yourself and make that effort. It isn't wasted and is always worth it.  My mom, still teaching me and telling me to show up and try; through a simple gift made for her and yet given back to me in more ways than one.

Notice the cake, and the pen holder sitting at her desk.

She was so proud of her Koralyn Marie. I had no idea she had done this.
 It melted my heart of course and made me miss her even more. 

Friday will mark 4 years since the day she was killed riding on the back of a Harley Davidson Motorcycle. I have read the accident report more than once. In my mind I have relieved that day many times over. It does no good for me. Only brings deep pain to think of my moms last horrific moments of life. I have put away the reports since being home from the hospital with Koralyn and I try not to go to the place where I think of her last moments, it just isn't healthy to dwell in that place, and I know that.

Today I made a trip to Arlington for an appointment and some birthday shopping for Amos. I was alone, which of course is pretty rare for a mom of 4 living children! The point being that I had quiet and time to think as I ran my errands. Going back to my old stomping ground before I moved to Midlothian. My Mom made several visits to Texas and we spent a lot of time in Arlington.

My first stop today was USMD Hospital for some medical tests. This hospital also houses a lot of medical offices, including the office of my first son's old pediatrician. When Asa was born my mom came to visit and help take care of us during his first week at home. Of course we had to make his first doctors visit and my mom came along to help. Today as I walked in those double doors the memory of that visit came rushing back. Remembering my fear to take my tiny baby out and how awkward my body felt. Having my mom there was such a comfort. I recalled today how she had admired the building, talking about what a nice facility it was. I can tell you right where she was standing when she made these comments. Such a simple memory and yet when it came flooding back my heart seemed to physically ache for her. I whispered under my breath, oh mom how I miss you so. I wish you were here with me now. I wish I could call you and talk. Oh how I want to hear your voice.

After my appointment I drove past the Spaghetti Warehouse and recalled another simple memory of her. We had taken her to eat there during one visit and she just loved it. She talked about how neat it was and how good the food was, Italian was always one of her favorites. Just another memory seemingly popping up out of the blue.

Lastly I made my way to the mall to buy a few gifts. I parked in the garage next to Macy's and as I pulled in I suddenly remembered another funny incident with my mom and Asa. It was a day we were heading to the airport so mom could catch her flight back to Albuquerque. We had some time to kill so we decided to head to the mall for a little while. It was very hot that day so we had parked in the shade of the garage. My mom was helping to get Asa out of the car and walking him towards to entrance to the store. She wasn't paying close attention and didn't realize the slope and drain coming up. So needless to say down Asa went with mom tumbling after, right on top of him! Oh it was a tragedy with a few cuts for both Mom and Asa. We made our way inside and Asa insisted he needed a bandaid. Luckily there was a booth with information and first aid and they rescued us from our plight. Once bandaged, we were on our way to enjoying our little trip to the mall! My mom felt so bad for hurting and scaring Asa of course.

That wasn't the first time she had injured one of her Grandsons! Years earlier, at the 4th of July Parade in Corrales, she had dumped poor sweet baby Jack out of his stroller and into the dirt! It left a few scrapes and bruises on his face, but he was okay. I am sure it hurt mom more then it did Jack! Later we all had good laughs about it! Once everything was healed of course!

Today it seemed memories of my Mom were surrounding me. It has been that way for awhile now actually. As I drove, I wondered the why my grief for my Mom seemed to be right at the surface lately? Could it simply be because of the month we are in? May, so much happens this month. Mother's Day, Mom's day of death, my birthday, as well as Amos'. So much joy and sorrow, death, and life, mingled into one month out of the year. Almost too much for one soul to take in really. Could it be because now I have Karis. Another chance to raise a daughter, so I feel closer to my own Mother? Longing to have her here to see my sweet babe and cheer me on like only a Mother can?

All I know is that it is true what they say. Grief comes in waves and a big ol' wave has come to my end of the ocean. Now instead of being taken under by it, as in the first fresh days of my grief; I get on my board and I ride that sucker to shore. Which means, I feel the pain, I let it come and take me for a ride, remembering those times past. I allow myself to hurt and feel grief that they are gone, that she is gone and on this earth, I will never see her again. But I keep on walking and living and breathing at the same time. Much like what I did today. No one in that hospital or that mall knew of the pain I was feeling. I could feel it in my heart and continue to function with my body. That's not to say there isn't a time to cry, still, four years later. As long as there is life in my bones, I will sometimes cry tears for my Mom and that's okay. I can hear her now telling me, Kenda you ride that wave. Enjoy the view from the top and feel all there is to feel. Be sad but also laugh and rejoice in the sweet memories. Don't fight the waves when they come. Get on your board and ride them with grace and dignity. And when that wave is over and it has carried you back to shore. Get out of the water and go on living on the land until you need to go for another swim in this vast ocean of grief that will only end once your time on Earth is through.

Mom, teaching Asa to light the Luminarias on Christmas Eve

Mom and I helping Asa open his Birthday gifts

Oh mom, I am doing my best and I miss you so. I love you,  Roo.

The Could Have Been.

I saw her when I first walked up to the counter to place my order. She was sweet and busy helping customers get their drink cups and condiments. I smiled at her and went about my business of ordering lunch for my rowdy brood. The boys were all requesting things as I tried to order, which drives me nuts and makes me feel so harried in the moment. She watched as I pleaded with my boys to stop, quiet down, find us a table, please don't play with the drink dispenser. It was her that smiled back at me then, reading the strain on my face. 

Later as I sat at the table eating my burger and fries, the girl came and sat with what I believe was her father and siblings, or close friends. She was on break I suppose. She had taken off her work visor and was waiting patiently for her food to arrive. I couldn't help but look over at her several times. She was enjoying the conversation very much, and when her food came she asked for the spicy ketchup with her fries.

 It was in that moment that the grief hit me full force. Amos looked over at me and jokingly asked if I was having a stroke. I had stopped dead in my tracks, burger sitting in my hands, halfway in my mouth as I tried hard to will the tears not to come. I had been thinking of our Koralyn. Thinking about how when we were first prenatally diagnosed with her, and how they had gotten it wrong. Her diagnosis that is.  The doctor had painstakingly sat pushing and moving the ultrasound wand around on my belly. She had sighed many times in that little dark room and when she was done the floor dropped out from under us and our lives had changed forever. Seconds, it takes seconds sometimes for your life to change, to look nothing like all the plans you have ever made. She sat below us on her chair and explained that she thought our daughter had several markers for Down Syndrome and that she would also be born with AV canal defects, which were very common in a baby with Trisomy 21. I remember asking her if that heart defect was fixable. She assured me that it was, but from the looks of things our daughter's seemed rather severe. The doctor of course asked if termination was an option for us, we would need to move quickly as I was almost past the legal mark. We of course said no, that was not an option for us so our next step would be the children's hospital and the heart specialist. 

Bluebonnets with my boys and my big ol' belly!

Happy here, unaware of the storm clouds in the distance.

I remember when we left that office I walked into the bathroom downstairs to compose myself. I passed the mirror and stopped to really look at my belly. I always love being pregnant and having the big baby belly to carry around for many months. As I looked at my reflection I felt at peace. I knew that whatever was to come we would be okay. I knew God had us here for a reason and that he had formed this baby in my womb. I kept thinking that as long as my baby could make it, we would be okay. We would love her and give her the best of us, just like we had our two boys. I stood there in the dim light of that bathroom and rubbed my belly, telling my daughter, my sweet Koralyn, that we would be just fine. I told her we loved her and everything was going to be all right. I took a deep breath and walked out of that bathroom resolved to do the best I could for this baby of mine. 

Fast forward to a few weeks later and we were given a new diagnosis of Hypoplastic Left Heart. My very first question to Dr. Roten was, is this worse or better then our original diagnosis? Her answer was that the heart defect was much more severe, but a lot of people considered it a better diagnosis because it didn't come with a chromosomal defect. Meaning our daughter would in fact, not be born with Down Syndrome. I remember blurting out that I didn't think that was better. I also remember relaying the news to our family members and the resounding response being, well at least she doesn't have Down Syndrome. I know they were only coming from a place of love and concern for us, for our baby girl, but it hurt. I explained that I thought this new diagnosis was much worse because it had a high mortality rate. I remember saying to Amos, to everyone really, that I would much rather have my daughter here with Down Syndrome then in the ground with perfect chromosomes. I stand by that statement 100%

So it was there in the Whataburger on a Friday afternoon that I sat reliving those moments that will forever be seared into my memory. It was there as I sat watching this beautiful girl with her family that I imagined how different our lives would look if the first diagnosis had been the correct one. I sat imagining what my Koralyn would sound like at almost 4, wondered what provisions we would make for her, with a diagnosis of Down Syndrome with AV Canal defects. Imagined her brothers being so sweet and gentle with her as they are with their new Tiny Sister Karis. I thought about Koralyn as a teenager with Down Syndrome. What would her dreams be, where would she work, what would her laugh sound like? Would she wear her hair long or short. 

 It was then that my eyes welled up and a great wave of emotion overtook me. I sat holding my breath for a moment, I didn't want to cry in front of this room full of fast food patrons. Didn't want to worry my already anxiety ridden son sitting across the table from me. Luckily Amos' comment made me giggle. He asked me if I was okay and I told him yes I was, but that I was thinking of something I would have to tell him about later. 

This is how grief treats me almost four years out from the loss of my sweet Koralyn. I am able to grieve while living my life, with nary a person even realizing what is on my mind, except maybe my husband who walks this road with me, both separate and yet together. Sometimes we talk about the things that are triggers for us. How its so strange what will pull us back to those dark and scary moments of losing Koralyn. The many months of losing her really. Starting when we were prenatally diagnosed and ending when they laid her tiny coffin in the ground. It is comforting knowing I am not alone in this deep deep hurt of missing our daughter, while also trying to remain present in the life we have now. It is such a blessed life, and God has brought us so much healing. Our days are mostly sweet and even our remembrances of Koralyn are mostly sweet a balm to our souls really. 

But I believe there will always be moments that stop me in my tracks, those moments when I think about what could have been.

 For a moment I sat and watched a beautiful young woman who just happened to have Down Syndrome and I imagined my daughter in her place. She was happy, thriving. She was working hard at her job and enjoying the people around her. What I wouldn't give to have my sweet Koralyn fill her shoes. The man I believe to be her father sat next to her, proud and smiling back as she joked about a boy and sipped on her coke. She isn't just a chromosomal syndrome to him. Isn't  just a label or a diagnosis. She is his beautiful, smart, talented, living, breathing, daughter. She is a life, a soul, a gift. So was our Koralyn. I stand by my words I said all those months ago. I would rather have my daughter here with Down Syndrome then in the ground perfect, or at least more acceptable in this world's eyes. Dare I say, if you asked that girl's family if she is perfect to them, they would all gladly and with much wisdom tell you, yes, indeed, she is just what we needed. 

My first glimpse of Sweet Koralyn

Kangaroo Care, such bliss!