Some job, some errand, some scheduling...some...SOMETHING other then what is making my heart hurt.
I am too busy to wallow in disappointment, grief or sadness.
I am busy leading my family in.... LIFE.
To me, My strength is the most important characteristic that I have. It is not the wicked way I can accessorize or my unique ability to laugh at myself.
It is having the strength that it takes to be IT for my children. To take on the world, to fight against personal needs, desires or weaknesses.
There is nothing in this entire world that is more important then my children.
Their needs.
Their desires.
Their futures to become strong human beings that can contribute to future generations of strong leaders.
But every once in a while, I give myself permission to wallow...to grieve for something that once was. To remember the spark of someone's heart that fed my own soul.
Samantha.
Samantha's death was a tragedy. A fucking tragedy. One that breaks my heart to even think about.
Instead I will tell you a story of True courage. Samantha's courage.
Brandee and I were visiting her one day and I had my shoes kicked off and my feet were burrowing into her blankey.
She was laughing at something that we were talking about when I saw it.
"What THE fuck is THAT!" I screeched and pointed to the floor.
"What Auntie?" She said giggling at me, her hand covering her mouth.
"That thing that THING...I HATE it!!!" I growled.
What I was looking at was this:
Only the one in the room was contoured to Sam's body.
"THAT is my radiation mask thingie." Sam said shrugging her shoulders and laughing.
"What happens with it? why do you have it? I HATE it!" I swore.
"THAT is what I wear when I have radiation. See the holes? They put that over my face and screw the whole thing into the table, you know, so I don't move." She shrugged like the fucking thing was not the most horrifying item ever to have been created.
I gulped.
I also fixed my face so that the absolute horror and shock did NOT show.
She laughed "It's pretty gnarly huh. I think that when I am done here I will take it home and decoupage it. You know, make something pretty out of it. It is what it is Aunty, but we can always make it pretty."
"I hate it. I want to kick it I hate it so much." I mumbled
Sam laughed " Well, I hate it too Aunty, but it serves a purpose."
That was Sam.
Optimism supreme.
*******
All I can remember about The day Sam died is pacing the play yard with my necklace to my mouth, praying over and over.
I kept skipping and stuttering over the words.
Tears rushed from my heart to my throat and out of my eyes.
When the last child left we rushed out of work. Only taking enough time to call Samantha's uncle and tell him that I was coming.
Numb.
Disbelief.
No.
Not her.
We ran into the hospital and stood in line to be seen.
Elevators and hallways that turned into tapping feet and hushed breathing.
We made it to PICU and I pulled out my phone. Samanthas grandmother answered after 7 tries. "Laurie. She is gone. She's gone." A sob and a click and I threw my phone.
I was too late.
Too late to say good bye. Too late to sing to her. Too late to tell her how much I cherished her from the first moment that I held her in my arms in NICU.
Her grandmother came to me, to take me to her.
Squares on the floor.
Empty taps.
Shoes hitting hopeless halls.
Doors.
Doors.
Nurses and beeping and rooms painted with hearts.
Hearts filled with hope.
Hearts disguising hopelessness.
I was told to gown up and we entered the room.
And there she was.
Sleeping beauty.
Every atom of air that was is inside of my body left it.
Squeezed out by the utterance of one word.
"Sam."
The entire world tilted.
It darkened. It dimmed.
And my ears were filled with the sounds of sobs and of bodies hitting bodies in hard hugs of grief and revolutionary sadness.
Sam.
A box of tissues were handed to me, and the sound of the gritty cheap material grated in my ears.
The world filled up with tears and sobs clutched at my lungs.
Sam.
She lay in the bed. She looked peaceful. pale...final.
I hugged her grandmother and looked across the room.
Her uncle sat in a chair, legs spread head in hands and tears....tears and tears and so many tears.
I remember watching him when Sam was born. Waiting at home for news on her release from NICU.
Gulps.
Tears.
unbelievable shock.
8 minutes.
I was 8 minutes late.
At one moment I couldn't stop staring at the PICU sign.
Wasn't she JUST born?
Didn't I just gown up to hold her brand new tiny form?
Didn't we just scrub our nails and giggle with glee at the thought of my namesakes arrival.
Arrival.
Departure.
Too Soon.
My mind kept going back to the day she was born.
The way she giggled.
The way she ALWAYS cried when I left her.
How she loved hot foods and cooking.
How she looked like she was mine, from the moment that she was born.
Shock. Unbelievable sadness. But shock, still fills my heart.
My mind cannot even grasp it. I shake off the thought of her gone from this world.
Her words fill my head "I am not afraid to die. If God wants me, then I can accept that.I just don't want to die alone."
Sam was loved. But her story is tragic to me. So tragic.
Each and every time that something seems too hard....
When I am TOO tired....
When I give up hope...
I think of Samantha and that ugly fucking helmet. And I think If she can do that,I can certainly do this.
I can live for her.
I can laugh for her.
I can remember her.
I can love her always.
And sometimes, when I forget to laugh, when I miss her hugs and the horrible way she left this life,
I can wallow.
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