22 things

Here are 22 things you may not know - 22 things this grieving mother needs to share today:



1) It does not matter how much time has passed since Gabby died. The moments surrounding her death are as fresh in my mind as they were on Nov. 20th, 2009. The nightmares still come. I can close my eyes and recall how she felt in my arms. So swollen. So heavy. Not my dainty little sweetheart that I could carry with one arm while unloading dishes or vacuuming. I can remember the smell of the blood. The drainage tubing. The bodily fluids. Hospital hand sanitizer. I can recall the darkness of her arms and legs. So dark purple. They were already dead. She could not feel me holding her hand as I had so many times before. I remember the way my stomach felt. I was nauseated and felt as though I was being crushed by something so heavy. I felt guilty for breathing. I did not want to breathe if it meant my daughter could live. I remember the people outside the PICU room...the nurses..the doctors...family members. I just wanted everyone to leave. I wanted to be alone with Jason and Gabby...in the middle of 1000 acres of nothing. I wanted no distractions because nothing else mattered. But the distractions were there. Questions from staff that seemed so meaningless and horribly out of place. "Mrs. Merrick, we would really like to perform an autopsy on your daughter. We don't know what went wrong. We could learn from this and help others in the future." What? Why are you asking me this? My baby girl is right here...she's still ALIVE! I wanted to shout, "GET OUT!" But something held me back and reminded me that nobody else had any idea how I was feeling.

2) When we came home from the hospital without Gabby, there was her crib. Just like it had been when she'd slept in it 3 days earlier. And the day before that. And the day before. For over 4 months. Her little stuffed doll was still there - the one that always made her smile. She liked to feel of its softness. There was her swing and the little fish she used to gaze at while falling asleep. I wanted to turn it on just to hear that familiar, soothing, tick-tock sound of it swaying from side to side. But I knew it would cause me more pain when I looked and only saw her rattle in the seat. I could not do it. In here room, there was the diaper pail. We'd changed her a few times since emptying it. I wanted to get the diapers out and hold them close, and that thought did not seem anything but beautiful to me. There was her laundry hamper. In it were a few little outfits she'd worn in the few days before her surgery. There was the little sleeper with the rabbit...pink...with the sleeves rolled up because they were too long. It still smelled like spit-up around the collar. I grabbed a couple of spit-up soaked bibs and frantically stuffed them into a baggie. I did not want that scent to escape - ever. I still have them in that baggie. I leaned over Gabby's crib and put my face down into the mattress and I could still smell her. I started sobbing and my knees gave out. Jason was there to keep me up but I really just wanted to be alone. I looked over on the changing table and there was her diaper ointment. I had just used it on her a few days ago. There was the rattle she loved to hold while I changed her diaper. I remember McKenna and Olivia being so excited when they taught her how to hold it. I closed my eyes and I could remember the four of us gathered round that changing table...so many giggles...so many smiles....so much love. I wanted to go back. I just wanted to erase the 3 previous days and go back to when my baby girl was there with us...surrounded by so much love and joy. But I couldn't. Then I began to think of how I was going to pick up the pieces of my girls' broken hearts. I knew I couldn't fix my own. How would I ease their pain and help them to have any faith in anything anymore? They were angry and sad and confused. They had become so attached to their sister. How was I going to get myself through this while also seeing their pain and figure out a way to help them? They were so young. They should not have to go through such pain. One more reason for me to be angry and crushed. I had lost one daughter, and my other two had lost so much of their innocence.

3) Gabby lived for less than 5 minutes after she was taken off the ventilator. Jason and I talked to her in the most gentle and loving way we could. We told her it was okay for her to go on and be with Jesus. We told her she had been a very brave and strong little girl and had brought so much to our family and community. I believe I managed to cry out a verse of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star - the lullaby I sang most often to her. Her last few breaths were soft gasps. I hate the image of the gasping that I have in my mind, but I would not have missed it for anything. I remember the doctor kneeling beside me and putting on his stethoscope to confirm that she had passed. I remember wanting to tell him to leave, though I knew his job was very important and necessary. I knew she was gone. I didn't want to hear him tell me. Those words were so heavy. But he had to say them. I remember holding her for just a while. The nurses wanted to bathe her and asked me if I wanted to help. Of course I did. The nurse filled the little pink hospital basin with baby wash. But it wasn't the lavender kind - the kind we always used. I was upset because Gabby needed her lavender wash! But then I remembered it didn't matter. I wanted them to remove all the fluid-filled tubes coming out of her...and the wires. But they could not. We had to work around them, as they needed to remain in place for the autopsy. The doctors had mentioned wanting to check every detail. I just wanted to hold my daughter with nothing sticking out of her body. But I couldn't. Now...I wish I'd stayed with Gabby longer. I wish I'd taken pictures. I wish I'd known there were organizations that would have done professional pics for us. I just kept thinking, "Gabby is not here now." And I wanted to leave that room, feeling strangely like I would find her somewhere else. I should have stayed. While I know she was not there, the body that I had known as my daughter was still warm. I wish I had held her until they MADE me leave.

4) NEVER ever tell a grieving mother you know how she feels. Unless you have lost a child - you don't. Sure, there are other kinds of loss. And we can all relate to one another through those types of loss. But losing a child is different. Parents are not supposed to bury their children. The loss comes with an extreme sense of failure. I was unable to protect my daughter and keep her alive. As her mother, that was my main purpose. I failed. No matter how silly that may seem to those of you reading this, it is VERY real to me and any other mother who has lost her child...of any age. We carry a certain sense of guilt that we may or may not ever be able to overcome in this lifetime. It is the worst kind of guilt.

5) If I seem distant, it is because my mind is often rewinding to my time with Gabby. Her death. My feelings relating to all of it. Yes I have 3 other wonderful, amazing children that I adore. But they do not replace Gabby. They will never fill the hole that Gabby left in our family. I could have a hundred more children and Gabby would always be missing.

6) If I manage to go through a day without having an emotional breakdown, it's a good day. If I manage to smile or laugh, it's quite an accomplishment. I don't know how long it will be that way.

7) Gabby's grave is a 30 minute drive from my home and in another county. I wish I could go there more than I do, but with 3 other little ones (especially one that has an anxiety disorder that can be triggered by traveling), it just doesn't happen often. There are days when I really wish I could just go sit there for hours. I can remember what her little white casket looked like and what she looked like lying in it in her little pink gown. I have pictures. I remember seeing it lowered 3 feet below the soil. Sometimes I just want to dig through that soil. I recall a story about Abraham Lincoln in which he was said to have dug up his young son...just to hold him one last time. He knew this pain, and perhaps that is one reason why I like our Lincoln's name so much.

8) I am NOT superwoman! It is all I can do to function many days, but I have 3 children and a household to which I need to tend. I love my 3 living children. Two of them have some minor special needs. I do not want to let them down. But just because I am going...going...going all day, every day...doesn't mean I am fine and I am "over" losing my daughter. I am just really good at sucking it up and trying to focus on my blessings - pushing with all my strength to keep the pain and sorrow from overtaking me. I never knew I could be this strong.. God gets ALL the credit for it. If I let myself do what I really feel like doing, there is no telling where I'd be now. Drugs? Alcohol? Worse? I don't know. What I do know is that all those things are the "easy" way out of this pain. I make a choice every day to fight the pain....with prayer and a lot of hard work. I have a family counting on me. I cannot afford to be selfish.

9) In a bag in my house, I have the pink sleeper that I dressed Gabby in after she died. It was the same one she wore the morning of her surgery and so many times before. It has tiny flowers on it. She always looked so beautiful in it. After she died, my hands failed me as I snapped up the snaps. Each one was more difficult than the next. The sound of that final snap echoed through my mind and through the PICU room. I knew I would never again dress my daughter. I recalled all the times she'd pulled her legs up as I tried to get them into a sleeper. She was quite squirmy. But now...no wiggling. No squirming. Only total stillness. I wanted her to MOVE! I could have sworn she opened her eyes, but it was so hard to see through the tears. After Gabby was prepared for her funeral, we were given a bag containing that sleeper...along with a cream colored hospital blanket that her body was wrapped in for transport to autopsy. There are stickers on the sleeper and the bag...with Gabby's name and date of death. Sad reminders of how she was "just another body" to the pathology lab and the morgue. The blanket and the sleeper still smelled like Gabby the last time I sniffed them....many, many months ago. But the scent wasn't the Gabby I remember. It was a little of that mixed with the scents I remember from the moments just before she died. I don't know whether I should be happy to have these items or disgusted by them. I also have a tiny lock of Gabby's hair that Jason and I cut from her head just before her casket was sealed. Oh how I wish I'd cut off more! It's such a tiny amount. Her hair was so soft. So fuzzy. It was something I loved about her. I used to put her head under my chin and then kiss that little fuzzy head....so many times.

10) McKenna and Olivia talk about Gabby very often. They have many memories of her, and sometimes they seem a little sad when they talk about her. McKenna remembers details of the funeral. Olivia often says, "I miss Gabby"...out of the blue.

11) I want to get a very big tattoo that reads, "I HAVE FOUR CHILDREN!" I want it across my forehead. Ok...not really. But you get the idea. It hurts so much for the 5 of us to go somewhere and hear someone say, "Wow...3 little ones! You have your hands full." I want to say, "No I don't. Because I have FOUR children. One is just not here with me, but I wish with every fiber of my being that she was." For someone not to see that I have FOUR children makes me feel as though Gabby didn't count. And that hurts so badly. When children grow up and move away from home, their parents do not stop counting them when asked, "How many children do you have?"...right? Gabby still counts. Just because she's living in Heaven now does not mean she is not a part of my family. We are separated only temporarily.

12) Would Lincoln be here if Gabby had not died? I don't know. I don't think he would, but I just cannot answer that. I always thought we'd only have 2 children even though I wanted more than that. It was the number upon which Jason and I agreed. But then we had 2 girls and we went through 4 years of infertility (and so much heartache month after month after month). We had a new appreciation for children...and for life in general. And we had at least a little desire to have a boy, so we thought we'd give it one more shot. Then we tacked on 26 more months of infertility...another surgery...more tests...more disappointment. And then we were so excited to find out we were pregnant with #3! We were done. Then....Gabby died. And I knew VERY quickly, I was NOT done. We were so fortunate that it only took 5 months...a little more testing...and 3 rounds of fertility meds (which didn't work, by the way). I truly think God knew we could not handle a lengthy 4th round of infertility only a month after our daughter died.

13) Feeling as though Gabby has been forgotten by the rest of the world is so difficult. I LOVE to hear others talk about her. It helps me realize she DID make a difference.

14) In Lincoln's room, there is a small square on the wall where lavender paint remains...surrounded by a sea of baby blue. That room still belongs to Gabby too, and that square reminds us of that.

15) I kept all of Gabby's clothes, and I do not plan to part with them.

16) The day Gabby died, I was changed forever.

17) I still have a daily struggle with feeling as though we should have taken Gabby to a different doc and a different hospital. Unfortunately, there was no money to go out of state for surgery.

18) Lincoln shares many of Gabby's features. Jason and I can see her in him quite often.

19) A grieving mother is dealing with an tremendous amount of pain and because of that, she often has little patience or may seem more tired than she should.

20) Having a critically ill child and then losing her really teaches a mother to appreciate those in her life that stepped up to help out or share a kind word....or those that were there at the hospital...the funeral home...etc. A grieving mother is FOREVER grateful for those gestures and those people. At the same time, it is very difficult for her not to consider those that were not there. While she tries very hard not to think such thoughts, she's only human. It teaches her to do everything she can to help others in similar situations.

21) I wish so much I had held Gabby's body at the funeral home. I did not even think to ask. I later learned that the undertaker was concerned about me possibly wanting to hold her because she'd had a full autopsy. I guess he did not think I could handle what I might see. I could have. I knew why there was a purple crease across Gabby's forehead - that little forehead that used to wrinkle up so sweetly when she yawned. I didn't WANT to know why the crease was there. But I knew, and I hated that such things were going through my mind as I stood by her casket. Her little hands were so cold. Not the warm little hands I'd held so many times. Her face was still so swollen...and cold. I inspected her feet and legs. They had been covered in so much make-up because they'd been so dark purplish black. They were not as stiff as I'd thought they might be, and somehow that comforted me. I remember thinking how much I hated to think about all those things. But there was no escaping such thoughts. I remember seeing my other daughters standing by their sister's casket. They reached in to touch her and hold her hands. It was an image I will never get out of my mind - an image of sweet innocence mixed with terrible tragedy. My girls used to kiss Gabby's hands and play with her little fingers. The sight of them holding her cold, dead fingers was so very different. I know they must have been thinking of all the times they held and kissed her little hands.

22) Gabby was amazing. She was so special. I miss her smile. I miss her laugh. I miss her adorable toes and fingers. I miss her soft cheeks. So....so....so...many things. She touched the lives of her therapists, her doctors, family, friends, and more. Those who knew her were truly blessed.