Sunday, April 15, 2012

18 months old today.

Today we drove home. We drove home on the 15th. We drove by Mayerthorpe. We drove by Whitecourt. We inched closer to home and stopped in Fox Creek for awhile.

Exactly 8 months ago we drove this road to Edmonton. We drove through Fox Creek. We stopped in Whitecourt and I nursed Eva on the side of the road, in front of the Dairy Queen. I didn`t know this would be the last time I would nurse her. If I had I would have cherished the moment so much more. We drove on and stopped to get gas in Mayerthorpe. I fed Eva some baby food. The last food she would ever eat was at the UFA in Mayerthorpe.

It was so emotional today to be on this road, but it was good too. We could have waved sad waves to our old, happy selves today as we crossed paths on this road, barreling in opposite directions.

We went on and picked up our remaining children and took them to a Gospel Music Night.

 I asked Mike what time it was. 9pm.

At 9pm, 8 months ago there still was hope that Eva might live. I really didn`t expect her to die at 9 pm.  At 9:10pm they announced that at 9:15pm they would stop. That`s when I screamed. That`s when I understood my baby would die. They called me over to hold her hand and I kept screaming ``Eva, Eva, Eva`` in her ear, hoping that my voice would bring her back. I kept looking at the clock for those last 5 minutes, 4 minutes, 3 minutes, 2 minutes...till my baby was dead. Time of death 9:15. I will never forget the sound of those words. Time of death 9:15.

We made it through another 15th. Today Eva would be 18 months old. A year and a half. We would be getting her picture taken because kids change so much in the early years....

What do you look like today my darling...


  1. Happy Birthday, little Eva. It's a landmark, for sure. I wish she were getting around - walking, maybe running, with you, or your husband, or her brothers chasing her every step. Sweet Eva. Thank you for taking us through those last minutes with her. Thank you for sharing her last time nursing, her last meal, her last moments. I have those all in my mind and my heart, and I honor Eva's life and light.

    May we all find some comfort, my friend. I hold your hand through our keyboards. I'd love to make you a hot cup of tea. These days. Anniversary days. I'm breathing deeply with you.

  2. Thank you Suzanne. Thank you. I'd love to have a cup of hot tea with you too. What is it about the hotness of tea that soothes the soul?

    I am usually a coffee person, but coffee is entertaining, and tea is comfort.

    1. I love coffee, too. And I don't know what makes that warmth so soothing - the warm mug in my hands, feeling the warmth down my throat, in my stomach.

      Take good care, sweet mama. sending love


  3. I am so sorry I am late to this. Your description of waving to yourselves, crossing paths again, so wistful.

    Your beautiful little Eva. I'm so sorry. That hope in your heart, so quickly and brutally snatching away from you. I'm just so terribly, terribly sorry. Thinking of you and your little daughter xo

  4. those last minutes must have been like a nightmare...can't even imagine the emotions that were going on. Sorry I missed Evas 18m birthday...I feel bad and mad at myself for forgetting! I was thinking of her really really early on the 15th as I sat in emerg once again with Chloe. Everytime I go to that hospital I can't help but think of your little sweetie...praying for you