I have no idea what to title this post as. Solara has been staying with a very trusted friend these past few days. It has been her choice, she has so much fun there. Death has been hovering over our house and I think it frightens her. Words come and go through my mind like leaves scattered in a fall wind. Anaya and I are alone. The house whirs with fans blowing, the dog scratches, his collar sends a metal tink-tink sound through the room.
There is a Buddha on his collar. His name is Buddha. Buddha came to Brent and I almost five years ago. He was a six month old puppy that had been abused and neglected. Over the years he has come out of his shell, become happy, playful, friendly and even a bit snuggly. He's sitting now, staring at the door, waiting for someone to arrive. I think he's waiting for Brent. Maybe he senses Death too. Solara took him for a walk up to the park when she visited Anaya and I today, and I've let him out into the yard, but he would really love to go for a big walk - a run even.
Sometimes I drive him up to the cemetary. Nelson has a huge old cemetary with a road ringed through it. No one is ever there in the early evening and if I have care for Anaya sometimes he and I will run around it. The beautiful old tombstones remind me of how our earthly existance is so ephemeral. What were these people's hopes? What were their dreams? Did they live a life of Love? or of Fear and pain? Do their relatives still live in Nelson? The saddest graves for me have always been the children. I always wondered how and why they died, so young, so fresh to life. I've never been afraid of graveyards. They are so still and calm. There is an energy there. Reverance. Respect. Dignity. Love.
Anaya will not have a tombstone. We will have her cremated and her ashes spread on the wind. She will become one with everything. We will see her in the eye of a sunflower, in the shine of a water droplet, in the tickle of the rain, in the heat of the sun. She will be free and she will be eternal. She does not need a tombstone, a relic of those left living. She will be mountain meadows, fields of wildflowers, orchards of the sweetest fruit. Her smile will be seen on the faces of daisies, and in the eyes of mothers world wide. She is love embodied and her soul will radiate outwards, infusing all of the world with her love and goodness as she passes.
My little love. So soft and pink today. My little puddle. So wet. So incredibly wet. I wish I could give her something to calm her secretions but with the pneumonia that is just not possible. She is so beautiful today in her pink knit dress. Her lips have returned to their perfect pinkness and her cheeks are plump and rosy. Her fingers lay still as she sleeps, just next to the syringe of water that I am easing into her tummy.
"There you go love, you need water to get better!" I say to her, unplugging the feeding tube from it's spot on her tummy and pulling her dress down. Her eyelids flutter and she sighs, as if to say thank you. It reminds me about a conversation I had with her yesterday.
I told her she can go. She can leave whenever she needs to. I told her that we love her and we know she wants to stay with us but that if it's too hard we understand. We don't want her to suffer, and we will not interfere with more intensive life supports. We will allow her to graduate from this life with honor, dignity and respect. I cried, silent tears streamed down my face and I buried my head gently into her side. Next to her heart. I remembered each moment of her life. Her birth, her babyhood, her sickness, her nowness. I felt her soul encompass mine in it's enormity and surround me in what can only be described as a soul hug.
She felt sad that I was sad. That made me cry harder. I sobbed myself dry and looked up into her face. Her blind eyes opened and she looked at me. She sighed again. That sigh that says "I'm okay mama, I'm happy, don't worry. I love you." Then she closed her eyes and stopped breathing.
My heart stopped. I waited. My eyes teared up. I waited. My mouth went dry.
This is it. I thought.
I watched and I waited for her to take another breath. She went ashen. Her lips turned blue. Her mouth opened in a giant yawn...and she took a deep breath in. I let a deep breath out and cried with joy. Oh baby! Oh my baby! Thank you for staying. I know I'm supposed to gladly let you go, but oh I'm so glad that you stayed.
We snuggled up and went to sleep and I had no idea if she would live through the night.
This morning I woke up and she was feeling better! Stronger! Vibrant and alive. I'm not done yet mama! She seemed to say to me. I scooped her up in my arms and went downstairs.
Please, if you love Anaya and you like reading the blog...help us out...
There is a Buddha on his collar. His name is Buddha. Buddha came to Brent and I almost five years ago. He was a six month old puppy that had been abused and neglected. Over the years he has come out of his shell, become happy, playful, friendly and even a bit snuggly. He's sitting now, staring at the door, waiting for someone to arrive. I think he's waiting for Brent. Maybe he senses Death too. Solara took him for a walk up to the park when she visited Anaya and I today, and I've let him out into the yard, but he would really love to go for a big walk - a run even.
Sometimes I drive him up to the cemetary. Nelson has a huge old cemetary with a road ringed through it. No one is ever there in the early evening and if I have care for Anaya sometimes he and I will run around it. The beautiful old tombstones remind me of how our earthly existance is so ephemeral. What were these people's hopes? What were their dreams? Did they live a life of Love? or of Fear and pain? Do their relatives still live in Nelson? The saddest graves for me have always been the children. I always wondered how and why they died, so young, so fresh to life. I've never been afraid of graveyards. They are so still and calm. There is an energy there. Reverance. Respect. Dignity. Love.
Anaya will not have a tombstone. We will have her cremated and her ashes spread on the wind. She will become one with everything. We will see her in the eye of a sunflower, in the shine of a water droplet, in the tickle of the rain, in the heat of the sun. She will be free and she will be eternal. She does not need a tombstone, a relic of those left living. She will be mountain meadows, fields of wildflowers, orchards of the sweetest fruit. Her smile will be seen on the faces of daisies, and in the eyes of mothers world wide. She is love embodied and her soul will radiate outwards, infusing all of the world with her love and goodness as she passes.
My little love. So soft and pink today. My little puddle. So wet. So incredibly wet. I wish I could give her something to calm her secretions but with the pneumonia that is just not possible. She is so beautiful today in her pink knit dress. Her lips have returned to their perfect pinkness and her cheeks are plump and rosy. Her fingers lay still as she sleeps, just next to the syringe of water that I am easing into her tummy.
"There you go love, you need water to get better!" I say to her, unplugging the feeding tube from it's spot on her tummy and pulling her dress down. Her eyelids flutter and she sighs, as if to say thank you. It reminds me about a conversation I had with her yesterday.
I told her she can go. She can leave whenever she needs to. I told her that we love her and we know she wants to stay with us but that if it's too hard we understand. We don't want her to suffer, and we will not interfere with more intensive life supports. We will allow her to graduate from this life with honor, dignity and respect. I cried, silent tears streamed down my face and I buried my head gently into her side. Next to her heart. I remembered each moment of her life. Her birth, her babyhood, her sickness, her nowness. I felt her soul encompass mine in it's enormity and surround me in what can only be described as a soul hug.
She felt sad that I was sad. That made me cry harder. I sobbed myself dry and looked up into her face. Her blind eyes opened and she looked at me. She sighed again. That sigh that says "I'm okay mama, I'm happy, don't worry. I love you." Then she closed her eyes and stopped breathing.
My heart stopped. I waited. My eyes teared up. I waited. My mouth went dry.
This is it. I thought.
I watched and I waited for her to take another breath. She went ashen. Her lips turned blue. Her mouth opened in a giant yawn...and she took a deep breath in. I let a deep breath out and cried with joy. Oh baby! Oh my baby! Thank you for staying. I know I'm supposed to gladly let you go, but oh I'm so glad that you stayed.
We snuggled up and went to sleep and I had no idea if she would live through the night.
This morning I woke up and she was feeling better! Stronger! Vibrant and alive. I'm not done yet mama! She seemed to say to me. I scooped her up in my arms and went downstairs.
Please, if you love Anaya and you like reading the blog...help us out...
Go girls..this is not over.. brave girls...
ReplyDeleteCamara, oh what a beautiful, sad and lovely post. What a tribute to this special baby girl you have been blessed with. My prayers are continually with you and I pray for her healing too but I know that God is with her. She is His special child and He is walking with her every step of the way. You are a wonderful mother.
ReplyDeleteI don't think anything I've read has ever made me cry so hard.
ReplyDeleteI am so sorry, Camera. I'm just learning about your beautiful family tonight, and I will send a donation.
I wish I could do more, though. I wish I were a nurse. I wish I were your sister, or your friend and could sit with you and learn how to care for Anaya. I would like to donate milk as well if you need it.
I don't know you, but I love you.
I reach through this computer and wrap my arms around you both and hold you in your sorrow and your suffering.
Love,
Opal
I am honored to subscribe to the blog and be a part of your journey! I will strive to get as many people and donations coming your way as I can. You are such an inspiration! Anaya is such a beauty!
ReplyDeleteAs I sit here crying, I find myself sincerely wishing that I knew you. I wish that I was your friend and that I could come and hold you. You know all of the things that can be said; you've probably heard it all so many times before. You might not feel it now, or maybe you do, but your strength is amazing and inspiring.
ReplyDeleteI will send a donation, but I wish I could do more. I could also donate breastmilk (I have ~200oz in deep freeze), but I live in Texas and I do not know what the laws are in regard to shipping a bodily fluid internationally. If it's possible, you can respond to me at bobbileecornell@gmail.com (I've heard that my email is blocked and I don't know how to make it public).
What an emotional post! I am so happy to hear she is still here. I too have a demyelination disease. Not as progressive as your sweet Anaya's. But life changing none the less. I re wrote a song and sang it as a thank you for all who have helped me. It reminds me of you in a way and the struggles you face everyday. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x98TV4DUfXE .
ReplyDeleteI look forward to reading your future posts on how Anaya is getting stronger.
Camara I cant tell you how much this post affected me. I can't seem to stop the tears. I pray that Anaya finds comfort and knows how much she is loved. If I could I would move mountains to heal that beautiful baby. I wish I lived closer, it would be an honor to meet that sweet little soul, and to help you in some way. I feel like its not enough but I've subscribed and hope it helps a little <3
ReplyDelete~ camara that was an incredibly brave and wonderful post~ what your dealing with is every parents worst nightmare and your living it every day~not knowing when your baby is going to pass~Anaya is such an amazing bright light to be around~i havent taken my Anaya necklace off since i bought it~ when im praying for her i put my fingertip into her handprint thats on the pendant~im highly superstitious! i love that necklace! thanks for making it possible to be a part of your lives! sharon j
ReplyDeleteYou are simply amazing Camara. Facing death with such a brave mind and heart is your incredible journey with you little love angel. I would like to subscribe... although, I have no credit card and my sweetheart and I have unfortunately no longer a couple. Is there another way I could send you a monthly donation that would work well for you?
ReplyDeletexoxoxo
Kim
Life. And Death. We are all here to experience both. Anaya is enlightened and enlightens us all.