Butterflies and rainbows

Unlike last year, we had good weather for Cora's birthday this year, so we were able to release her butterflies on her birthday.

and the place we went to dinner was next to a Build-a-bear, so Erin decided we needed to go stuff a bear for Cora.  And she chose a rainbow bear.  A rainbow bear stuffed with love by her rainbow siblings.

I love that Erin has such an attachment to her sister that she's never met.

Dear Cora,

I can't believe it's been 6 years.  Who would you be today?  It's hard not to try to imagine you here with me, my life as it should have been.  I wish I could know what you would have been asking for this year.  Would you be a girly-girl, all ponies, princesses and dolls?  Or would you be a rough-and-tumble tomboy?

I miss you.  More than any words can say.  You have a part of my heart that nothing else can take.  There isn't a day that you don't pass into my thoughts, some way, some how.  I wish I could care for you like I do your siblings, and get comments about you from strangers.  Your hair would be a hit, I just know it.

I love you darling girl. Happy birthday.

Love, Mommy

If Only I'd Known.

I have often regretted not going to the hospital Cora's last night, when I was at work and a coworker offered to take my place so I could go in because I told her I felt "off."  Especially after looking at the ultrasound from 23 weeks and it becoming painfully obvious that her cord was around her neck then.

I've often told myself that "if only I'd known" about her cord placement, I might have gone in and maybe they would have seen her distress and could have saved her.

But in thinking about it today, the anniversary of the day we confirmed she was no longer living, I realized something.  I was thinking about the last movement I remembered, a long stretch into my ribs that prompted me to ask her not to hurt me, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was the last I remembered because it was the last.  If that is the case, then even if I had gone to the hospital then, it would have been too late.

This actually gives me peace, even though some might think it would do the opposite.  It means that my inaction didn't alter the outcome.  

I still hurt immensely for her.  I miss her today of all days, as I relive the trauma of the doctor's awful words "her heart's not beating," and that still image that is seared into my mind.  But it gives me some peace.

So many emotions

I've had an extremely busy couple of days.  Too much to really feel anything, but now that it's calming, it's all crowding around in my head.

Yesterday we went to help a friend move in to her new house.  She works with my husband, and she invited another coworker who brought her daughter.  Her daughter Cora.

Matt had the gracious foresight to warn me, so meeting her wasn't too bad.  And she's 12, nowhere near my Cora's would-be age.  No, the hard part was hearing Erin and Patrick running around yelling to her, coming back and telling me how much fun they were having with her, how much they liked Cora.  I miss having that name used like that in my house.  It's weird to say I "miss" it too, because I never got to experience it in the first place, but there isn't really a word for how I feel about it.  I hate that Cora is more of an abstract concept than an actual person in my home.


And today is an anniversary of my greatest regret, possibly.  I was thrown a small baby shower by 3 of my friends, it was just the four of us, but it was nice.  Someone asked me how I was feeling, and I said "I almost don't care about the baby anymore, I just don't want to pregnant and sick anymore."

Cora died the next night.

If Only

Every year I try really hard not to relive the last week of Cora's life.  And I always fail utterly.  Every year I think about what I was doing on a particular day.  And it starts today, April 26th (a Wednesday), the day of my last regular OB appointment.  I was 37 1/2 weeks, and having fairly regular contractions and a LOT of pain/pressure "down under" on top of still being horribly sick like I had been the entire pregnancy. I was very ready to be done with the whole pregnancy thing.  Not only that, but my brother was graduating in Utah that weekend, and my parents would be only a 3 hour drive from me (as opposed to an 11 or so hour drive), so I asked him if he would induce me.

But I was healthy, the baby was healthy, and their policy stood against elective inductions before 39 weeks, so he refused.  I figured it was a long shot, but was still disappointed.

Cora died Sunday night.

If only he'd agreed.  I can't help but run through it in my head.  What might have happened if he'd agreed?

Of course, there's no answer to that.  It's quite possible with her cord where it was that she might have not made it through labor, even with an emergency csection.  But she might have.

Words cannot describe how desperately I want to hear that cry.  To see her open her eyes and look at me. And it hurts so tremendously that I didn't get to.  I had that ripped from me.

The person I was died with her.  Someone else walks in her place.  I like to think that this new person I am is better, more kind, more compassionate, more patient, a better mother.  More appreciative of every moment I DO have.  But, days like today, I really miss the person I was.  I miss the future she was going to have.

I miss my baby girl.

Columbine

Today was the 13th anniversary of the Columbine High School massacre.  I've reflected a lot on that day since moving to Littleton, and even more today, my first anniversary here.

I was a sophomore in high school, and I was sick that day, so I stayed home.  I don't quite remember how the news got turned on, I was probably flipping through channels and saw something, but I watched the whole thing through.  I spend the day crying, watching in horror as the terrorized students ran towards the news cameras.  I couldn't understand how someone could commit such senseless violence.

I've been taking the kids to Columbine library for almost a year now, many times playing at the park next door.  I'd seen signs for the Columbine memorial, but I'd never been over to see it.  And I honestly had no clue that the high school was just over the hill.

It was really beautiful.  I had no idea it would have that much of an emotional impact on me.  The atmosphere was quite reverent as we walked in.  Even Erin felt it, she was shushing Patrick.  I didn't know any of those who had been killed, but I it still hurt so much to see.  So many lives lost.

Each victim had a plaque with whatever the family felt appropriate to put on it, and one plaque, Rachel Joy Scott's, had something she had written about a month prior.

"I have this theory that if one person can go out of their way to show compassion, then it will start a chain reaction of the same. People will never know how far a little kindness can go."

Wouldn't the world be a better place if we all learned to do just that?

The other Cora

There's another angel Cora that is special to me. Her name is Cora McCormick.

Cora died at 5 days old due to an undetected congenital heart defect.  Sadly, a very simple test could have detected it and saved Cora's life.  It's called a pulse oximetry test (the little white plastic thing put on the tip of the finger...SO simple).  Cora's amazing mother has been campaigning trying to get bills in several states to make pulse ox tests for newborns standard and mandatory.  And she's doing an amazing job.

Go read Cora's story.  Then contact your representatives and tell them you support a pulse ox bill to be written or passed in your state.