From the beginning...

One of my main reasons for beginning this blog is to share the story and the life of my precious London. Since I have so many journal entries that I've never shared, I thought I would post some of them every now and then, so that you can get a glimpse of our story and my feelings...especially those of you who have experienced the loss of a child. So, today I thought I would take you back to the beginning - the day after London was born (Sept. 12, 2007) through Sept. 17 (the day of her funeral). In my entries, I have always been brutally honest and open. That is something that has helped me to heal. Journaling has been one way of releasing so many emotions for me...sadness, anger, disappointment - you name it. Therefore, I don't apologize for anything that may seem inappropriate. I must admit - grieving my daughter has caused me to feel ways that I never imagined I would feel; to say things I never dreamed I would say. It has been a journey that I never imagined I would be on, but here I am. I hope you get something out of my experience. This is somewhat lengthy, but it gives you an idea of how this journey of grief began.

September 12, 2007 (Wednesday)
We met with Dr. Manning again and he reiterated what London’s surgery was all about, including the risks. All of this was just words to me at that point. We already knew the risks, but the doctors had said that she was “as perfect as a baby could be” going into surgery. She was big, healthy, and breathing on her own. They expected her surgery to be a success and for her recovery to be good.

On the 12th, I got to hold her, read her Guess How Much I Love You, take pictures of her in my dress that I came home from the hospital in (Mom had ironed it and brought it). She was so adorable in that dress! She didn’t like the flash of the cameras, though…the nurses were calling it her first photo shoot! She sucked on a pacifier, snuggled with her “snoodle” (that had my scent on it), and we got to simply enjoy her. I felt her little nose against my cheek, I felt and heard her little breath in my ear, and every little grunt was like the prettiest song I’ve ever heard. I thought I would get to change her diaper, but when I went to change it, it wasn’t dirty…she was a good pooter! London didn’t cry much, but she hated having her diaper changed…she had a really strong cry then!

Jonathan sang to her…mainly made up songs that he thought of as he sang (in a baby voice of course). We took a couple of breaks to go eat and to spend time with Jagger, but Wednesday (the 12th) was all about our little girl. All of the family came and spent time with her, too. Jagger had a cold, so we didn’t want to chance bringing germs and sickness into the ICU. At the time, we knew he would have lots of time after her surgery and recovery to see her. Plus, we didn’t want him to be scared of all the monitors and IV’s. We stayed with London until about 7:00, and decided that Jagger needed some time with his Mommy and Daddy. He had been shuffled for 4 days now, and was very out of his element. We kissed London good night and left the hospital. We stayed at the Ronald McDonald house, watched football, and let Jagger play with the boatload of toys that we packed for him. Overall, we had a good night, and Jagger was glad to be with his Mommy and Daddy.

September 13, 2007 (Thursday)
We got up early, took Jagger to Mom, Dad, Clifton and Robin at their hotel, and Jonathan and I headed to the hospital. This was the big day…surgery day. My nerves were definitely bothering me that morning. My blood pressure was up for the first time in my entire pregnancy, and I felt very emotional. It was as if I had forgotten that she had a heart defect. She was so perfect in every way and was doing so well, that even though she had IV’s with different medicines, it just didn’t seem like something was really “wrong” with her. Knowing that this major surgery was coming and we couldn’t get out of it just hit me square in the face, so to speak.

I got to give her a “bath” Thursday morning. I got to rub her chest, neck and belly with a warm washcloth. I still have a visual of when the nurse lifted London’s chin so I could get her neck…it brings a smile to my face. Her little cheeks were so chubby, and she wanted to get mad, but she couldn’t cry because she couldn’t open her mouth! I cleaned under her little fat chin…she was glad when the bath was over. I couldn’t help but think that this was the last day I would see her little chest without a scar. That was okay, though. I held her forever that morning and just cuddled as much as I could – even though I had to be careful with her IV lines. She seemed perfectly content in her Mommy’s arms. Every now and then, she would snarl up her little face as if she had a bad dream, but then it would go away and she would lay there as happy as can be.

Her hair was so sweet. It was thick in the back and so very soft. As she lay in my arms, I just rubbed her head over and over. I rubbed the back of her hair by her neck and felt in in-between my fingers. She held on to my finger as if to never let go. Every now and then, I would raise the cover just to look at her precious body. Her legs were chubby, and her little feet were so sweet. I still think she had Jonathan’s feet. I didn’t notice a really long second toe! Jonathan had his time to hug and love her after I made myself break away. Plus I had to use the breast pump every 3 hours, so that took up some of my time.

We expected London’s surgery to start around 2:00, but as the day went on, we learned that it would not begin until 3:30. That was good because we had more time to spend with her. Besides leaving to eat lunch, we never left her side that day. Kyle came in while Jonathan was holding her and took video of them. Nathan Joyce, Gary Williams, Jim Moore, Michael Norton and Brian Nelson from church came that day. Nathan prayed over London with us. Brittany came, too. It was so great to see her because I didn’t expect any friends to miss work to come and see us. She wanted to be with us, and that meant so much. Brittany came back and got to see London about 30 minutes before she left for surgery.

As time ticked away, our emotions grew stronger. How could we possibly give our precious baby up to a group of “strangers” and allow her to undergo such a complex procedure? The ONLY way we could do that was because it was her ONLY chance at life. We had no choice. The nurses gave us a 30-minute warning, and then a 5-minute warning. We met with the respiratory therapist, anesthesiologist, surgeon and nurses that would be in the operating room during her surgery. They began to arrange her IV’s and all the monitors so that they could be wheeled beside her down to the 3rd floor operating room.

We got to follow London’s little incubator down the hallway, into the elevator, and onto the 3rd floor. As the elevator door opened, the nurse said, “Mom and Dad, give her kisses and you’ll see her after surgery. The operating room is right there, so you’ll need to stop here.” Tears flowed as we leaned over our precious daughter. She was still so serene and oblivious to the chaos around her. I remember kissing her head and telling her to be a strong girl, and that Mommy would see her after her surgery. I told her a million times that I loved her and that they were going to take good care of her. Jonathan said his piece and kissed her. We turned away, and they took her. She was wheeled away, and we were escorted back to the ICU to get our things. This was the hardest part of our experience thus far.

We got our things and went down to the waiting room where approximately 20 family and friends waited for us. We got a private waiting room with recliners and a TV (which we never turned on). After about an hour, the nurse came in and told us that London was very stable, that she was on the by-pass machine and that surgery had begun. This was a great beginning report. The next hour, the nurse came in and said that she was still stable, but that Dr. Manning had found something that concerned him. They had found 2 anomalous (out of place) vessels coming off of London’s pulmonary artery. In order to reconstruct her aorta, Dr. Manning had to remove them, hoping that they were not coronary arteries that supplied the heart with blood. However, they would not know if they were or not until the end of the surgery when London would begin coming off of the heart/lung bypass machine. She did say, though, that London’s heart was so pink and healthy that he truly thought that the coronaries were probably in the correct places and that these 2 vessels were insignificant. He assumed that if these 2 vessels were coronaries, then her heart would not look so healthy. Here’s where the gut punch came in…after we asked her, “What if they were the coronaries?” she said that there would be nothing else they could do.

This sickened us, but we were still trying to be encouraged. Hadn’t we done enough waiting for the past 5 months? Now, all we could do was just wait another few hours and see what the fate of our daughter was. I began to feel faint at this point. My lips turned white (so my mother-in-law said) and I just laid down, rocked and prayed. We hadn’t expected this. She was a “standard, textbook case”, remember?! How was there something that they didn’t know about? Of all the tens of ultrasounds and the echocardiograms that we had, this was something that they never found.

What seemed like an eternity was only another hour when the nurse came in and said that the surgery was almost finished, and they would begin taking London off the heart/lung bypass machine soon. She would be back in another hour to give us an update. This visit basically told us nothing new. We still had an hour to wait.

That hour finally passed, and the nurse came back with concern on her face. She said that they had slowly begun taking her off of the bypass machine, and Dr. Manning sees where blood is circulating through some of her heart, but he doesn’t see it circulating on the backside or the under-side of her heart. She said that only time would tell if it would begin circulating throughout the entire heart. They would come back when she was completely off of the bypass machine and let us know. This is the point where words on a page cannot possibly do our emotions justice. We asked her if there was a way to take a vessel out of London’s leg and create coronaries if they had to. She said that they have considered every option, but that is not an option. The nurse tried to be kind, but I knew. I just knew. I could not believe what was happening. It’s like I was standing still in eye of a tornado. Life was spiraling out of control for me. What would the next hour hold for us? Would we get miracle news and rejoice, or would we be the desperate parents who have lost a child? We still had to wait.

About 30 minutes passed, and I absolutely got sick every time I noticed a silhouette of someone passing by the frosted glass in the waiting room door. I knew that it would be the silhouette of that nurse again. What would be her look? What would she say? Well, it happened. I saw her silhouette, and for the first time since 3:30, there was someone with her. I knew. Did I say that earlier? I knew what was coming, and I couldn’t stop it. She opened the door slowly, and the other doctor squeezed in slowly behind her. She looked at us with a somber face, and slowly shook her head “no”. As I type this and speak the words softly to myself, that gut-wrenching feeling comes back to me. I was stone cold. I didn’t cry – I couldn’t cry. I stared at the floor while my husband clasped London’s silky pink “Thank Heaven for Little Girls” blanket (the one we snuggled her with) over his face and screamed bloody murder while throwing himself back and forth in the recliner…as if he was convulsing or trying to escape his own skin. Mom and Robin went over and just sat by him while he somehow gained control over his body again.

Dad, Clifton, and Nathan were in the room, too. I don’t even recall what they were doing besides kneeling by us and just being there. Again, all of this was SO unexpected! Yes, I know London’s condition was serious, but the success rate of the Norwood procedure (the 1st surgery) was 85%, and London was supposed to be a low-risk patient! How did all of that get thrown out of the window? How were we in the 15%, and how did low-risk suddenly become fatal?

I will never forget the sound that I heard from the waiting room when Mom left our private room and shared the news with our family and friends. It was like a roaring sound of screams, wails, anger, and other raw expressions of grief and sadness.

Dr. Manning and the rest of the crew came in shortly after and showed great respect. I could tell they were truly sorry for our loss, and they did everything they could to save her. Dr. Manning told us that if they had known that her coronaries were anomalous, they would not have even attempted the surgery. We would have known that our precious London was going to die and we would have just waited. I’m glad we had hope until the very end. I’m glad that we kissed her good bye with the intentions of seeing her again. I’m glad that we were able to have the surgery performed so that we can say that we did EVERYTHING possible to give her a chance at life.

Jonathan and I told the doctors and nurses how thankful we were for the care that they gave London. We told them that from the very beginning, we knew that we would do everything in our power to give London a chance. By coming to Cincinnati, we had chosen some of the best doctors, nurses and cardiology programs in the nation for her. Jonathan hugged Dr. Manning and the others while I stayed seated. The nurse who had been in contact with us (I think her name was Jen) asked us if we wanted to see London. At first, we had this pressure that we should see her and hold her again, so Jonathan said yes. Then, after thinking about it, I decided that I wanted to remember her healthy and happy – just as she was hours before when I kissed her goodbye. Those are the memories that I want to keep in my mind – not the lifeless, gray body of my precious 2-day-old daughter. Jonathan agreed, and we chose not to see her.

The chaplain came in later to talk to us about what to do next. Nathan stayed with us at this point, and our parents left the room. We had to fill out London’s death certificate, and discuss which funeral home would take care of her tiny body. This was all so surreal and torturous. The nurse came back in with a box full of memorabilia from London. She told me to go through it when I was ready. I wasn’t ready, so it remained closed.

After the chaplain left, we asked Nathan to bring everyone into our room because we wanted to talk to them. We wanted to say our piece, not get feedback, and then they could leave. One by one, they piled into the small, private waiting room. When everyone was in there, the door was shut, and I began to talk. Mind you, I still had not cried. Why? I don’t know. I think I was in utter shock from the worst blow to my emotions I could ever imagine.

I thanked them for being there for us throughout this entire journey – ever since May when we found out about London’s heart defect. I reminded them of our plan to be advocates for London and to do everything in our power to give her a chance. I explained that God shared her with us, and that it was not in his plan for her to stay. I explained that she was our miracle and she was perfect in our eyes. I simply shared my heart. Afterwards, they hugged us and they left. We gathered our things, and we left the hospital. Our journey was over. We would not be bringing our baby home after 3 or 4 weeks as we had expected. We would not have to learn how to use a feeding tube in case her sucking reflex was weak. We would not need the car seat installed beside Jagger’s. We would not need the precious pink, cotton outfits that I had packed. I had been so excited to choose which one she would come home in. Then, there were the headbands I had packed for her…one with every outfit. They were soft, lacey and had little bows on top. Of course, there were the tiny, white socks with the princess crown on the bottom. There was the rabbit that Jagger wanted his little sister to have…that was in her diaper bag. And then, there were several “Pampers Swaddler” diapers that I packed for our drive home. No, I wouldn’t need any of that. In fact, my entire image of life thereafter had been completely ripped to shreds.

We went back to the Ronald McDonald house, cleared our room and left Cincinnati – never to return, if it’s up to me. The drive home was somber…just me, Jonathan and Jagger. Jagger mentioned “baby Yundun” during the ride home. He said “Baby Yundun at the doctor, Mommy? Baby Yundun in Cincinnati?” We couldn’t even respond to this, so we simply ignored him and changed the subject. It just hurt too badly. We arrived at Mom and Dad’s house and stayed there. We weren’t ready to see “all that never was” in our own home. The reality of London’s death set in the next day and hasn’t left since.

September 14, 2007 (Friday)
It was eerie waking up and being confronted with the fact that I did not have a nightmare. My baby really did die last night. Obviously, I couldn’t sleep, so I got out of bed around 6:00. I just had an urge to write and share my feelings, so I went to Mom and Dad’s computer and composed the following email:

To all who have prayed for London...
* Please share this with any and all individuals who have lifted us up during this time. Thank you.


To all...

Four months ago, Jonathan and I were given the opportunity to abort our baby girl. We knew she had a complex heart condition, and that there were risks to giving her a chance at life. For a moment in my cowardly and overwhelmed state, I thought about this option. My thinking was that I wouldn't have to get attached, and it would save me future heartache. However, I woke up and I had a husband, Jonathan, who said that no matter what, he wanted her to know love. He wanted to hold her, smell her, kiss her, and let her know that she is loved - no matter what her time on earth was like.

From that point, we have thrived to be advocates for London - to support her and have hope that the three-staged surgeries would work, that she would have a chance at life. From the beginning, I knew that no matter what, I never wanted to have regrets. I wanted to be able to say that we did everything in our power to give London a chance. I can truly say that we have done that. She was at a top 5 hospital in the nation, with a renowned heart surgeon, doctors and nurses.

When London came into this world, it was the most peaceful, easy labor ever. They did not whisk her away. Instead, we got to hold her and family got to come in the room and admire her, just as if nothing was ever wrong. She had a strong cry, she was "perfect" in every way. The doctors and nurses continued to say that she was as perfect going into this surgery as a baby could be - that this was a "textbook, standard case". They expected her recovery to be good and for this to be a success. As surgery started, our first update was that she was very stable and things were going well.

As time progressed, however, they found a problem that none of my 10 or more echocardiograms had picked up on. Her pulmonary artery had 2 unknown vessels attached, which had to be removed for the sake of the reconstruction of her aorta. The surgeon continued with the surgery, hoping that these vessels were not coronary arteries that supplied the heart with blood. He hoped that they were simply insignificant and wouldn't play a role in her circulation. All of a sudden, this "textbook case" became a case that even this renound surgeon had never seen. In the end, London's heart was not getting the blood flow that it needed, and those vessels were in fact crucial to the success of the surgery.

Now, she's gone. Our pain is greater than anything I've ever experienced, nor want to ever experience again. My heart is truly torn. But...I will never cease to believe that London was our miracle. She was knit perfectly in my womb, just as God intended her to be. She was given to us for a reason. I would go through 100 pregnancies to experience the 2 wonderful days that I had with her. For her 2 days, she knew nothing but hugs, kisses, baby talk, and unconditional love. We got to hold her, smell her, and love her - just as Jonathan insisted from the beginning. We got to pray with her, sing her songs, and will forever be touched by her short, but unbelievable life.

London Cloe Tomes made an entire community stop and pray. She made people who never trust in God, trust in Him. She made us look beyond ourselves and have hope beyond a diagnosis. As sad as I am, I still want God to be glorified in this situation. I know that London was His from the beginning, and He shared her with us. Now, she is safe in His arms and will be until we see her again...and we will see her again. Praise God for salvation and the unbelievable hope we have in a God that loves us and promises us an eternity with Him. I couldn't possibly get through this without Him, and I know He will sustain us. We are so blessed and have a lot to be thankful for.

Thank you to every single one of you who has contributed to our situation. Thank you for praying for us, being positive, wearing "pink", and just caring. We will forever be grateful for your support. I ask that you would pray for us and our family as we face the coming days.

With love and sincere thanks,
Ashlee

** Just a side note about this email…I have been amazed at the feedback that I have gotten about it. Maybe it was God speaking through me that morning, but many have shared how blessed they were when they read it. It has been used as lessons in Sunday School in several churches, it has been the basis for church messages (at least 3 that I know of), it was read by Claudia Thurman at a breast cancer conference in which she was asked to share something about living with a purpose, and it was published in a catholic magazine. It was even sent across the nation by my previous Mary Kay National Sales Director, Pam Shaw. To say the least, God blessed me and used me through this email.

Back to Friday…
Tons of people came and brought food to Mom’s house. Brooke left work to come and visit me. We ate together and cried together. We had to go to Brown Funeral Home at 4:00 that day. We decided to go alone, just Jonathan and me. As we were about to leave Mom and Dad’s, I had to make myself open the diaper bag only to notice her picture right on top – one that the hospital had taken. After sifting through all of her precious things, I finally got to choose an outfit for her to wear home. There was one slight change in my plans, though. She was not going to our home. She was going to her Heavenly Father’s home. I suppose I should rejoice in that, but my human feelings are taking over right now, and I couldn’t rejoice in that thought if I tried. I want my baby here.

Back to choosing her outfit…my dear friend, Margie Patterson gave London this outfit. When I later told Margie that London was buried in the outfit she gave her, Margie began to cry and she said, “Well, honey, you told me you were going to bring her home in it…and she went home in it.” It was white with little pink hearts on it made out of flowers. There were 2 little white bows across the chest, and it was long-sleeved and buttoned down the front. I chose a pair of white ruffled socks with little white bows on the side. The outfit came with a little hat made out of the same material and a precious blanket, too. Tears well up in my eyes as I describe her outfit. It was so sweet, and yet my heart aches beyond measure as I go back to that moment when I had to hand that outfit over to Mr. Brown, knowing that he or someone else would be the one and only person who would dress my daughter. Her Mommy never got to dress her. Am I bitter? Yes, I’m bitter. My heart is absolutely broken into a million pieces, and I simply want my baby. I want to hear her grunt again, cry again. I want to feel her nose and her breath upon my cheek. I want to feel her tiny hand wrapped around my finger. I want to clasp her little foot in the palm of my hand again. I want to run my fingers through her silky dark hair. I want to see her in her brother’s arms, and I want to see Jagger’s face light up when he plays with her. But…I never will. Am I bitter? Yes, I’m bitter.

We decided to have a private, graveside ceremony at Gilead with Nathan preaching her funeral. There again, we simply wanted to keep our memories positive, so we chose not to have a viewing. The funeral was scheduled for Monday morning, (9/17/07), at 10:00.

This was also an extremely hard day for another reason. My milk came in. Not only was it torture to want my baby with me, even though no one could grant my request. But, it was even worse for my body to be preparing to “feed” her, yet there was no baby to feed. I only breast fed Jagger for 6 weeks, but I was fulfilled in doing so. I knew that I couldn’t actually nurse London because we had to know how much milk she was getting. However, I planned on pumping and giving her my milk in order to boost her immune system and to have that “bond” that breastfeeding tends to give a mother and baby.

My blood pressure was through the roof on Friday, too. I starting panicking and freaking out, to say the least. Cely called Alma (who was awesome, by the way), and Alma got in touch with Dr. Henderson. She called me in Xanax to calm me down, and Paxil for my anxiety. It did help once I received it. I guess it took the edge off of my unbearable emotional pain.

September 15, 2007 (Saturday)
On Saturday, I felt like I wanted to take all of our things home, put it all away and get our home back to “normal” before we went home for good. Alaena and Cely went with me (they were both wonderful through everything). We arrived to see our front porch a memorial for London. There was a concrete bench, vases of flowers, cards, candles, mums, and more things from people showing their love for us and for London. We packed everything into the entryway. I sat on the rug in the entryway and went through the box that the nurse had handed me in the hospital. There were 2 sets of footprints, clay footprints, poems, and the one that made my heart rip even more was the “wisp of hair” that they had cut and put in a little plastic bag. It was a piece of London, and I wept uncontrollably when I saw it. I needed to grieve at that moment. I needed to just sit there, stare at her things and just weep.

Cely and Alaena packed every sign or symbol of London into Cely’s car after asking me first. They took her room apart, including all her clothes, blankets,…everything. I even told them to get rid of Jagger’s “I’m a Big Brother” shirt that he wore the day she was born. Alex helped them move the furniture. All the while, I separated myself and put clothes away, washed clothes, etc. They didn’t want me to see the transition taking place. I know this kind of seems quick, but my thinking was that in the end, it was never actually London’s room. She never slept in her bed or wore the clothes in the closet. Although those are the things that add to my grief, it actually helped me to let those things go a little bit easier. I didn’t want to have to walk by her beautifully decorated nursery day after day only to be “punched in the face” every time by the fact that she will never be in it. Instead, we made it into a playroom for Jagger. Cely bought little “car” valances to go on the windows, and it is a room full of life now. Don’t get me wrong, I have sat in the floor of that room and just cried my eyes out because it’s not London’s room any more. However, changing the room from the beginning has been a good thing for us.

We kept all of London’s precious items in a beautiful flowered box. It has all the things that will be cherished by us forever: her footprints, wisp of hair, her pacifiers that she sucked on, her “snoodle”, her engraved pink Bible, her pictures, her hospital bracelet, and her dress that she wore during her hospital pictures (that was also her Mommy’s dress). All of these things are kept safely in that box, and when we feel strong enough to look at them, we can open that box and take them out. When we’re not so strong, we know that those things are tucked safely away until another time.

That night, Becky and Bill brought dinner to Mom’s house. Becky made fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, green beans, corn, cole slaw, macaroni and cheese, cheesecake and another dessert (can’t remember). It was an absolute feast and was just wonderful. They visited with us, too.

September 17, 2007 (Monday)
This was a day that I wish I could forget. That morning, we woke up only to prepare ourselves for something that no parent should ever go through – the funeral and burial of our daughter. I wore a black suit and a heart necklace in honor of London. Jonathan wore a black suit, white shirt and pink tie. He wore pink for London. Evelyn kept Jagger at Mom and Dad’s house, which was so sweet of her. I tried to prepare myself for what would take place at the church. Jonathan and I really didn’t talk during our drive. When we turned onto Gilead Church Road, I noticed a small sea of black standing and looking for us. We were the last to arrive. As we drove closer, I saw a tiny white casket on top of a green, velvet box. It had a small arrangement of miniature pink roses on it. When I saw that sight, knowing that it was my baby’s final resting place, I simply lost control of my body and my emotions. I began wailing louder than I have ever cried in my entire life. Everyone stared as Jonathan tried to help me out of our car. I couldn’t take my hands off of my face…I couldn’t possibly look at that casket again. It was the first time in my life that I was weak in the knees and had to be escorted to my seat, the one placed directly in front of my sweet baby.

As I sat down, I began fanning myself for fear that I would pass out. I told Nathan to please get started so we could get it over with. To be honest, I was so worried that I wouldn’t make it through, on top of being so emotional, that I truly do not recall all that was said. I do know that Nathan talked about how London touched more lives in her 2 days than many touch in a long lifetime. I know he titled his sermon the day before, “Does God live in London?” and he focused on how God can move and work through a baby’s life in the womb and her 2 days on earth. The message was short and sweet, which was how we wanted it. After his message, I felt in my heart the need to speak, so I slowly stood and rested my hand on London’s casket (the casket was called “Little Angel”, by the way). I shared with the small group of close family and friends (Matt and Brittany were the only friends invited to attend) how proud we were to be London’s parents, and how we know that she was our miracle. I recalled to them a quote that I received on an email that says, “Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.” I said that London didn’t have very many breaths, but the moments we had with her took our breath away. That was the jest of my words.

We got into our car after receiving a few of London’s pink roses, and Jonathan decided that he wanted to help “put her in the ground”. I was shocked by this, but he said that he felt the need to do it. I didn’t question this aspect of his grief and closure, so I rode to Mom and Dad’s with them, and Jonathan stayed behind. He later mentioned that with every shovel full of dirt that he dropped onto the “little angel”, he felt a sense of release. That shows me that he needed to do that, and he followed his heart.

Everyone came to Mom and Dad’s afterwards. I guess you could say that although I was overwhelmed with grief, I had a sense of relief at this point. Now, I could just take it day-by-day, moment-by-moment, and begin this “healing” process. Well, I personally don’t think you can actually “heal” from losing your child, but I assume you can somehow learn to smile again, so I hope for that.