August 8, 1992- A beautiful, black haired, green eyed baby girl is born. The days pass, full of feeding, changing, sleep (or the lack thereof). Fast forward to December 19 of the same year. The atmosphere is full of holiday cheer. Decorating the tree, wrapping gifts, shopping...and death. This is the morning my daughter died. The night before she sat up on her own, she ate her first food (carrots), she cooed, and spent time with Aunt Karen and Memaw. Once asleep and bragging was done, I stayed awake to enjoy the free time and play video games. I breastfed, so my body let me know when I had to go to work. I turned to carress her cheek and wake her gently. She vomited a liquid from her nose and mouth. I freaked! I awoke my husband abruptly, for I did not know CPR, he thought he'd rolled over top of her. He picked her up, but she was already gone. I screamed, waking the whole house, frustration covering the faces that rounded the door. "She's gone" we choked. My alcoholic brother-in-law broke the phone in a drunken rage, so my father-in-law ran door to door searching for help. How ironic that the nosey neighbor was the only one to answer the door. The ambulance came and took her away. The coroner thought she was 18 months old. I had shaken her weeks before in total exhaustion, and felt condemned with her death as my fault. We had to wait until Monday to bury her, and Tuesday was my niece's 3rd birthday. I had to leave the room when everyone began to sing. A week later I found out I was pregnant with my eldest son...but I didn't feel it...ever! He, unlike his sister, only took 7 minutes to birth. I spent the next 18 months consumed with fear. Waking him each time he slept. The same agony repeated through the next two boys. I had had enough. Time is the only thing that has healed those wounds. In time I discovered many things that blessed me! Her name, Lauren Elisabeth, means "crowned with laurels and consecrated to God" which told me she was His to begin with, and He only lent her to me for a time. Her birthday, 8-08-92 didn't seem significant until...8-08-08 when she (would have) turned 16 (8+8). She was born in room 444 at Parkland Memorial Hospital. Which didn't shine it's real meaning until my youngest and final son, William, was born in the same room, opposite bed. Tis true, the last will be first, and the first will be last. I am blessed to say that God's word does guide us always, if we dare to seek and find His face. For all who still grieve, may God's word light your path and bring peace to your heart. I have since lost all photos of my sweet girl, she exists now only in my mind and His presence. GB
Posted By: Lesley Knight
Saturday, September 13th 2008 at 2:44PM
You can also
click
here to view all posts by this author...
