Her fuzzy head was nuzzled against me. It was a very rare moment for me with Bridgette. My 5th child and by far our most difficult. .. sent to us from her sister in heaven that I can imagine giggling just a little for sending us this little high needs creature.
So I was so appreciative of that moment. Her sleeping next to me as the sun came up .. giving me a few extra moments to lay in bed before starting our day.
… but suddenly the carpet was swept out from under me. I was pulled away by my own mind from the simple beauty of the moment. To a time 2 years ago .. snuggling another fuzzy headed baby in my bed. Baby Charlotte was just 9 months when her sister left us for heaven. The day after I was broken. Battered. Quitting. I refused to get out of bed so she came to me. Easy baby she was she snuggled right in and slept.
I felt her fuzzy head rub against my chin.. but silence inside. It seems though that moment made a imprint on me. Perhaps it what stirred me to get out of bed a few hours later..
Again.. feeling that familiar fuzzy head of hair, this time belonging to Bridgette, that my kids have all had against my chin I wondered.. What was Charlotte wearing when Jennifer died? Was it this same outfit Bridgette was wearing right then? These hand me down parade of clothes now on my final daughter.. The same size her sister before her was as the sister before both of the was fighting and then stolen by cancer.
Polka dots and ruffle bottoms.. I have a love/hate affair everyday dressing Bridgette in these clothes that were a daily part of a difficult time, but also a sacred one. Because Jennifer was still here. .. Often helping me pick out what her little sister should wear that day to her radiation appointments.
And my mind moved back again. This time just one day. The February 12th. The last day I touched my Jennifer while her heart still beat.
I remember .. not in the first person though.. I remember like watching a bootlegged movie but I am the star. Its not quite in focus.. but I see 2 blonde haired boys running out to a blue mini van parked on the street. And a baby .. somewhere.. somebody must have been holding a baby.
The doors to the van slide open. A pink booster seat is the first one at the door. ..This mother falls. .. screams. .. loud.. deep from her soul. A pain so palpable it is literally breaking her apart. You can see she is fighting it. .. trying to contain the strength in her legs but unable to. ..
Wailing. Collapsing. Thrashing.
“get them away .. get them away .. don’t let them see…im sorry I’m sorry im sorry. i can’t i can’t i can’t. “
Another woman.. the kids Auntie shuffles them off down the street.. The husband. He desperately tries to console his wife. Although you can see his fear. Will he be able to? Will she ever come back to him.. to them?
He tries to walk with her.. but eventually ends up carrying her into the house. His wife wailing.. in pain and spewing desperate apologies. Once inside she pushes him away and runs. .. Back to the room. Pink shag carpeting and a sound machine playing the sounds of the ocean. A messy bed covered in a princess comforter and towels. .. She collapses..
emptying .. a mothers soul in sorrow.
Now again laying in bed with a sleeping baby. Silent tears falling. Those same words come to me.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.. ”
Until a hand. A hand that made us smile when we saw it the day she was born. Small, with the same exact long fingers her biggest sister had. ..
This sweet hand of my sleeping baby.. it reached up and gently cupped and stroked my face.
…until there is a cure..