Growing up, my great grandmother lived with us. She had her hair done every Wednesday, this lovely halo of white curls around her head. When I was eight she had a stroke, and needed to move to an assisted living facility. Visiting her was hard. Not because she was in a home or acted different because of her stroke…no, it was because she looked different. Instead of her beautiful curls, her hair was straight, pulled into a ponytail. I hated seeing her like that.
When I was pregnant with Annabel, I would have lunch with my friend and former co-worker Desiree. Her hair was growing back after it all fell out from chemo. It was curly and thick, different than it was before she was diagnosed. Desiree rarely wore a scarf over her head, and she gave her only wig to my friend Jackie! to use. She didn’t care if people looked at her bald head. She wanted to be comfortable. At our last lunch, she had about two inches of curly hair, and a huge smile. I close my eyes and I see it.
My Aunt Kathy had the best collection of earrings. They were always sparkly, dangly, creative. They were always “on theme.” Holidays, birthdays, wine tastings, she had the perfect pair of earrings. The last day I saw her, she had on purple earrings. She told me she was channeling Madeline’s bravery through them. She was off to an appointment with another doctor. I never saw her at the end of her radiation, when she was thin and lost her hair. I’m grateful.
The last time I saw Madeline, she was swollen from fluids, her body covered with tiny oozing marks where the doctors had pierced her skin in an effort to keep her alive. She was cold and naked. I wanted to put a diaper on her, it didn’t seem natural to look at her without one. But nothing about the scene was natural. Her nose was running, the fluid tinted red. Something in my mind told me I had to leave before it got worse.
Two days later, we were at the funeral home making arrangements. Madeline’s body was in the next room. My body screamed, I wanted to see her, I needed to see her. But my mind kept me firmly planted in the chair. I kept telling myself she would look worse. She wouldn’t look like my girl. There wouldn’t be any light in her eyes. I would regret seeing her that way. My heart wanted to hold her and touch her one more time.
My mind won.
I want do-overs. I want to hug them all one more time, and tell them I love them and how much they mean to me. I want to be able to close my eyes and not have the bad images. I want them all back. My great-gram, my aunt, my friend, my baby. I want them back, smiling and happy again.
Cinthia says:
((((((((((Heather))))))))))!!!!!!!
Kate @ UpsideBackwards says:
Oh Heather, lots of love and hugs to you! We have to hold on fast to our good memories and treasure them, bring them out and polish them in our minds like shiny stones so they overcome the painful memories. So we can always see them happy and smiling, even if we can’t give that one more hug.
(I want do-overs too!!!)
Veronika says:
{{{{ hugs }}}} I wish we could have do-overs and turn back time. I wish we could change so many things.
rachel says:
i am so sorry that you have had so many losses in your life.
i decided i could not see my dad after he died. i struggled with that decision at the time and i am not sure to this day( almost 12 years later) if that was the right one or not…i want to see him again too.
Heather says:
I was 18 when my dad died and I remember desperately not wanting to see him in his casket. I never looked at his face, only his hands. My last memory of my father is his folded hands.
Melly says:
When my daughter was born still-born in Nov last year, I did not hold her or caress and snuggle her. I beat myself up everyday over this, but have remind myself, you can only do what feels right at the time. There is no guide book on loss, and no easy answer. X
Audra says:
Heather, I’m so sorry you’ve had to experience all of that loss, especially with Maddie. No mother should have to see her baby like that. You’re in my thoughts and prayers.
Lynn from For Love or Funny says:
I wish there was something we could do to make it better…sending hugs.
Molly says:
If only we knew. If only there was a way to freeze frame that last perfect moment.
I lost a coworker and friend two years ago. She got me the job that changed the trajectory of my life and we worked together for two years before she passed.
On the first day of that job (at a camp) I send her a facebook message about all the kids and everything I think shed enjoy knowing. It helps a little. I think she can see it. I never got to thank her For everything she did for me.
Wombat Central says:
That is so sweet. Crap, it made me cry. Hugs to you too. You’re a good friend.
edenland says:
Bless you xoxoxox
Meg...CT says:
I do know what you mean…EVERY day since Aug 1, 2010, I have wanted to negociate a do-ver. I think about what I would trade to have my beautiful niece back…it gets ugly.
Peace, love and happiness to you.
angela says:
((HEATHER))
I wish I could say in time you forget those last images, but some will forever be burned in our minds eye. The only thing we can do is flip the channel in our brain and fast to a happy memory. As someone who suffers from ptsd, I know this is HARD. It has taken me four years to be able to really have to let myself think to drum up the image of my son, lying there lifeless. In the early years, all I had to do was close my eyes. My brain was an enemy to my heart. You have had the most horrific loss, that was your last moment….but all you can do is flip that channel to one of Maddie clapping with a big cheesy grin. Flip it to her singing. Flip to another precious one. Sometimes you have to change it 90 times before you can relax……it gets easier but no matter what we always have that ONE image that can pop up when you least expect it to…..it knocks the wind right out of you. I wish no mom had to feel that.
amanda says:
You are so free with your love – I guarantee all of these ladies in your life knew very well how much they meant to you – but I wish so, so much they were all still with you now. xo
Nikki says:
Ohhhh Heather.
You’ve endured so much loss, especially in the last 2 years. It’s more than one person should so bear, and I’ll always wish that things were so desperately different for you.
I had the same thought when I went to the funeral home to see my grandmother for the last time. I had every intention of seeing her, but at the last second, I didn’t want that image being stuck in my head as my last image of her. Sometimes I wish I got to see her, but mostly I’m glad I didn’t.
Nothing eases the pain of wanting – needing – to see a loved one that is gone. I just hope that you’re able to cherish the good memories that you have and that they can help you in those dark moments. Also know that there’s someone in GA thinking about you, praying for you and wishing the best for you and your family, both here and in heaven.
Many, many ((((((HUGS)))) and lots of to you, Heather.
XOXO from GA,
Nikki
mary c says:
If I was given one wish, I would wish for all of your wishes to come true.
I think about the words that you have used to explain the way that you feel, about the lose that you have endured, and I wonder how you have pushed on. How have you managed to take that next breath and keep on going. Your words have made me laugh, cry, realize you take nothing for granted, and each day you hug that one person just a little tighter and hold them a little longer. Your words have even haunted me. I can’t even imagine the lose that you feel and we are only months apart in age. I want to let you know that I think that you many be the strongest person I ever stumbled upon, even if here, this blog, is the only place I know you, it is a honor. Thank you for sharing all that you do.
((Hugs))
mary c
Mary says:
xo
DefendUSA says:
Yep. That made me cry…I don’t want any do-overs…it would hurt too much. Hang in there, Heather…
Claire says:
I want them all back for you too Heather. When my granny was dying and I went to England to see her one last time, I burst into tears when I said my last goodbye…I was crying so hard and my 90 year old grandad put his hand on my shoulder and said “Grief is the price we pay for love.” I will never forget him saying that and when I think about it, it is so true. We would never grieve if we didn’t love. It is really a gift in life to be able to love so greatly. Hugs to you.
Jenn says:
Dearest Heather,
As I read your post about Maddie, I stood motionless with emotion – a site no mother should have to endure. I so wish I could give her back to you…the Maddie in the video’s. The ones where she is smiling ear to ear and she is moving her sweet little body to the music. I’m so heart broken that is your last memory of your sweet little girl. Please know I am here for you and you aren’t alone. I know Maddie is a beautiful Angel now as is your grandma and aunt.
Thinking of you, hurting with you and wishing so much I could fill your heartful thoughts with lovely ones!
Thinking of you biw & always!
Love,
Jenn
Annie says:
I couldn’t have said that better. Heather, I don’t know you, but my daughter isn’t much younger than Maddie would be now, and I’m not sure what that has to do with it other than I can only imagine your agony should I be in your place. My heart aches with the unfair-ness of her not being with you.
Mary Ann says:
Oh Heather I am so sorry you had to see Maddie like that – you will get that hug one day, I am sure of it.
Nellie says:
I never got to say goodbye to my cousin who passed away at 1 1/2 years of age nor of my friend from high school who passed away at 19 years of age. My heart aches for them and for all those who have touched my lives whether it be in a big way or in a small one – they all touched me to my core. I’ve never met you or your Madeline but she touched me to the core and every time your heart aches for her, I want to comfort you even if it means just saying a prayer that you, Mike and Annabel be always filled with the joy and love of your Madeline.
Wombat Central says:
I don’t know what you believe, but I’m thinking they’re all giving your their best smiles right now. Many hugs to you.
JoAnn says:
We’re here, and we’re listening. I’m sure we all feel the same- we wish we could reach out and hug you. And above all we ache to give you what you are wishing for. You are a strong and amazing woman whose strength and truthfulness I admire so much.
Lisa from WV says:
You are an excellent writer. You portray your pain so beautifully and tragically at the same time. I enjoy your blog, the ups, the downs, the humor, the insight, and the inspiration. I’m glad I stumbled upon this site one day. But I would give back ever knowing you (if only via the web) if it meant you could have your do-over. Thoughts & Prayers always.
Mary says:
Ditto.
Deborah says:
(((((((hugs)))))))))
Alice says:
I have no words for this. Just lots of love coming to you and Mike. What you have described is unthinkable. I’m so sorry.
Eric's Mommy says:
I want do-overs too. I’ve lost so many close family members to cancer. The last words I said to my Aunt who died at 37 were “I love you” over the phone. That I am grateful for.
The part you wrote about Maddie made me cry, I can’t even imagine. My heart is with you.
Momma Uncensored says:
hugs to you beautiful.
Cindy says:
That was a beautifully written tribute to all of them.
Linda Campbell says:
I know exactly how you feel, and want exactly the same thing. xo
Mary @ Holy Mackerel says:
Big hugs, sweetie. I know how you feel. It’s so hard.
suzanne says:
There are no words, none I have ever read, that are more powerful, agonizing and terrifying than your descriptions of your last day with Madeline. I don’t know why, but the sentence about her running nose broke me down. I am so thankful that you share her with us, including those last horrifying moments. As always, I wish I could give her back to you. I cannot believe you don’t get a do-over, Heather. Somehow, it all seems a shock, even a year and a half later.
For what it is worth, I think your mind was right on that day at the funeral home. What an act of willpower — I wish I’d had it at my grandmother’s service. As the spirit leaves, so does all semblance of the person you knew.
wa says:
i want them all back for you too. badly.
Lisa says:
Great big giant hugs, Heather. I want those do-overs for you, I want you to have your one more hug with all of them.
I have days still, almost 12 years after my dad passed away, where all I can think about all day are the things I remember about him and wishing that I had one more day, one more moment to hug him and tell him I love him.
Love and hugs sweet friend.
Jamie says:
I can only imagine what your nightmares are like, Heather. They most be horrible. You’ve witnessed something that no one–but more importantly no mother-should have to witness. Having those terrible memories of Maddie must be an awful burden sometimes. My Mom passed away from cancer. It was wasting and it was horrible. It’s taken SO long for me to push those images of how she looked at the end to the back of my mind. Remembering someone like that truly is the things that nightmares are made of.
Dianne says:
Heather,
I don’t really know what to say except that I am sending lots of love to you, and lots of prayers for you and your family.
mel says:
I’m so sorry Heather.
Andrea says:
We can only cherish our wonderful memories of our loved ones until we are reunited with them again! My SIL passed away 9 months ago from pancreatic cancer she was only 30.She always had this big beautiful smile that would light up the room! Throughout her fight I never saw her feeling sorry for herself only her positvie attitude on how she was going to kick cancer in the butt! and thats how i will alway remember her. I try hard to block out the way she looked hours before she passed because I know she’s now a beautiful Angel like your Madeline. The color for pancreatic cancer is purple everytime I see purple i think of her and your Madeline!
Erin W says:
With tears streaming down my face, all I can say is I’m sorry, Heather. That’s all I can come up with. The way your post makes me feel is indescribable and an ‘I’m sorry’ is all that comes out. It just absolutely breaks my heart…just know there are strangers almost all the way across the country that feel almost as much grief as you do…I wish I could take all the hurt away.
Eva says:
The hardest part is that you want to look/see but you know its not what you WANT to see.. if only we could be together forever with our loved ones
Layne - "Four Gambel girls and a Guy" says:
I never look at a body in a casket…..you want to remember that person in the good moments of life….not the body in the cold, dark void of death . My memories of my dad, grandparents are those of laughing, hugs and good times and that is the way it should be.
Alicia says:
So so sorry, Heather. Nothing about it is right.
maile says:
Sending hugs and love to you. Thank you for this reminder about how fast it all goes by. xo
Lora says:
My heart is just aching for you. Thinking of your family, and sending love.
Katie says:
God…. I have such a lump in my throat after reading that… I know what you mean – about all of it. I remember as a kid – my grandmother had this amazing neighbor. She was Ukrainian like my grandmother, and still had a strong accent. She used to work out in her garden, her long silver hair flowing, sometimes in a thick braid that went down her back, or hanging loose in tendrils that moved in the breeze. She would sneak cherry tomatoes through the fence into my grubby little hand – I didn’t even like cherry tomatoes but I would eat them anyway, because Mrs. Boyko had given them to me, all special and warm from the Rhode Island sun, and usually covered in a little dirt. She would say “The dirt makes you strong”. I remember when I was about 13 years old, visiting Mrs. Boyko in the nursing home… It wasn’t that her spirits were down at all – she had me put my hand on her hand, and she hit her chest – and said “I am strong – strong like bull”, and looked me square in the eye and smiled at me. What upset me was that her long, flowing silver hair had been cut off – the people at the nursing home didn’t want to take care of it. It was like they had taken something away from her. But unlike Samson, who lost his power when his hair was cut – Mrs. Boyko was just as strong without her hair… I guess that is what she was telling me when she said about being “strong as bull”. She must have known what I was thinking, and that it made me sad that her hair was gone…
Even when your lovely grandmother, friend, aunt and little Madeline, lay sick and dying… they were still the strong people they always were. I guess it is hard for us to see, because we are human – and we want our loved ones with us in the here and now – smiling and beaming and strong and vibrant.
I can tell you one thing, Heather – the strength of all of those women is within you still – and you will continue to carry it that strength on in your words. I thank God every day that I am able to read your blog. You always remind me to be strong.
mm says:
Here, here. That’s all it’s about: being strong and brave and loving, when we have no real control in this life. That’s what our children will remember us for.
Michelle Pixie says:
Heather, today I send you big hugs and lots of love through my tears. I can relate to this post on so many levels. XXOO
Kristin says:
I have no words, except I am SO very sorry. And hugs and love to you.
Kimberly says:
When my son, Logan Daniel, was stillborn my husband & I held him all evening after he was born. The next morning I was discharged from the hospital, the nurse asked if I wanted to see my baby again. I was so afraid that his appearance would be so much different, that we said we did not want to see him. I regret that, and have felt guilty for 14 years about it. I really just wanted to remember him in a certain way. He had a closed casket, so I have the memory of him just after he was born.
I want a do over too.
Manda says:
No mother – no parent – should EVER have to go through what you have. I feel such sorrow for you, and anyone else that has to be in this horrible “club”.
Camie says:
Thinking of you and sending lots of love today.
I hope those memories fall back and the good ones rise to the surface. It’s so hard. . . and I wish you didn’t have those memories. I wish you could have your do-over.
My cousin was killed in a bicycle accident six years ago, and it’s taken me nearly all of those to where my first thought of her isn’t her body at the wake. Now I remember her when we were kids together, playing and jumping on her bed, and it’s easier to have those be the first memories I summon to mind. I hope and hope that those horrible memories will eventually fall back, just a little, enough so you push them down again and remember sweet Madeline as you’ve shown her to us.
Liz says:
Heather,
All I can do is sit here and shed tears for the heartbreak and loss you have endured. I know the pain of loss though not that of a child. I wish it could be taken away from all who suffer these terrible losses. I wish you could see your Maddie every day. That beautiful smile and those gorgeous blue eyes! It’s just not fair.
Hugs to you and your amazing family,
Liz
Kalen says:
You've lost so many close ones, Heather. It's just heart-breaking.
Gale @ Ten Dollar Thoughts says:
Heather, you’ve endured more loss than anyone should have to. Especially at your age. Loss like this should come when we’re old, and have lived good lives, and are ready to say goodbye. I’m so sorry for all of this. I really am.
Mary says:
I think there are always things we wish we’d done differently. As someone else said, all you can do is what felt like the right thing at the time. It was the right thing for you, no matter what. The funeral home thing…I’ve never been a big fan of funeral homes. When Jim died, if I could have found a way not to look at the casket, I would have. I managed to be all right with the look but then I touched his face and that broke me. It was so cold. I wish I’d never touched it, but I felt like I needed to. My only point is, no one can tell someone else what’s the best way to do something. Had I not touched his face, I would have kicked myself for not having that one last touch. Had you gone to see Maddie, you may be wishing you’d done that differently. It’s so easy to second guess ourselves. But don’t. As one of the other commenters said, I’m sure they all know how much you love them.
Lisa says:
Heather — take comfort in knowing that you have many special Angels watching over you =). Desi was my friend too. When I saw a picture of you, Maddie and Desi on her Caringbridge, I told her I saw you and Mike on the news when you lost Maddie and that I have followed your blog since. She was so sad at Maddie’s passing, but she had such a heartfelt smile on her face when she said to me that Maddie’s the “cutest baby in the world”. I know you miss Maddie more than words can describe, but she is in good hands with your great grandmother, your Aunt and our dear friend Desi.
Trisha Vargas says:
I wish they were all here for you to have a do over too!
(((HUGS))) From Florida
Rebecca says:
Oh Heather, I wish that I lived closer to you so that I could show up at your front door with Diet Coke in one hand and cupcakes and ice cream in the other hand. We could sit and watch all the videos of Maddie and laugh on all the funny parts, ooh and ahh at all the sweet parts and just remember Maddie.
Jen L. says:
Ditto that! Sending love and comforting thoughts your way.
Sue says:
I hear you, Heather…………………….
Lots of hugs to you…………………….
Deidre Blair says:
I want do over too. I want my husband and father back. I want do overs for you too, badly…
Susie says:
I read your blog every day but rarely comment, because well, you don’t know me and I don’t want to seem creeper-esque! But I had to comment today – my grandfather passes away one week ago today and so last week I flew there for the funeral. I hadn’t seen my grandmother in over a year, and like you, the last time I saw her she had a head of beautiful, white curls that framed her face. I thought she looked so young for her age (94) and loved the way she looked. My flight got in late so I didn’t see her until the following morning and when I walked out into the living room, what I saw was shocking. The curly-haired grandma was not awaiting me, but rather it was the same smiling grandma, but sans curls. The beautiful curls were gone – what was staring me in the face was stick-straight white hair, no longer than my dad’s own hair. She no longer looked young and beautiful to me, she looked old and sickly. It took me all weekend to get used to the new ‘do and I felt bad for feeling bad. She just didn’t look the same, and that was a huge shock to me.
While I didn’t lose her, I lost the image I had of her for the past 23 years. And though it probably shouldn’t be, it’s hard for me to grasp. I know this may seem silly, but I think (hope!) you’ll understand what I mean.
Lisa says:
I understand fully and completely.
J+1 says:
I always think if I could just have two minutes with the people I’ve lost, I’d give anything. Anything.
Lynnette says:
Sending hugs your way.
Kristi says:
You’ve endured so much in your life. Your words about Maddie after she passed conjure up the saddest picture. Poor sweet beautiful Maddie. I wish I could erase that image from your mind.
Megan says:
I not only want you to have them back, I want you to have all the time you lost back. Like nothing ever happened, like you never had to endure even a second without them. Complete with a promise that they’ll never go away again. Anything less than that is just not good enough.
Life is so unfair. It’s beautiful and meaningful, but damn is it unfair.
Amy says:
I read this post early this morning .. only able to respond now. The images of your sweet baby girl have been haunting my thoughts all day. I just can’t shake the images. And if they have upset me this much… I simply can not fathom how you must feel on a day to day basis. Sweet baby girl. I am sending calming/uplifting vibes your way….
xoxo
Katie says:
Oh, Heather. This is painful to even read. I don’t know what to say. There is nothing that can be said. I just want you to know you are in my thoughts. I’m so sorry.
Angie says:
I understand you completely. I can’t ever look at a body in a casket and align it with the person I knew who was so vibrant and full of life. Watching my grandmother laying there, the one who years earlier walked into my elementary school classroom and charmed the pants off “The Beast” (my teacher) didn’t resemble the woman lying in front of me. When I think back to her wake, it barely registers that it was my grandmother’s wake. The woman in front of me wasn’t my grandmother, just a shell of who she was. Her face, her expression, her hands….everything looked slightly familiar, but not exactly what it should have been. When I close my eyes I see her smile and hear her laughter. I feel her arms around me again. That’s what I remember.
You’ve been through so much, Heather. You’re incredibly strong, even if some days you don’t feel like it. Annie has so much to learn from you. I think we all do.
If I could fly to California right now and give you a big hug, I would. So, e-hugs will have to do. (((((you)))))
Jewl says:
Heather,
I recently lost my grandmother. I have never lost anyone (thank goodness), and not that it compares remotely to losing a child, but after seeing her in the casket I shook and bawled and was a disaster. It was not her! It did not look like her. I wanted to see “her” one more time. My husband held me and told me, it is not her because she is not in there, it is a shell of a body, she is in heaven watching over us and you will see “her” again some day. I truly believe this and I believe you made the right choice with Madeline. Hold onto those bright eyes in your heart, close your eyes and see them gleaming at you. I believe you will see them again some day. Take care!
Deer Baby says:
I couldn’t read and leave without saying something although I’m not sure what to say. I’m just so sorry. Sending hugs. x
Rachel says:
Your words are so perfect, so painful, but so perfect. Thank you for sharing, and letting eveyone else who has felt loss know that all the weird terrible horrible emotions are normal, and that they are not alone. You are not alone, grief is isolating, and gut wrenchingly painful, but know that you are not alone.
Michelle says:
Heather, I am so sorry that you had to witness your beautiful daughter like that. No one should ever have to see their child that way. I cry and hurt for you, and wish I could give you a hug. Virtual hugs from Iowa are all I can send. I read your blog every day, and you are such a funny, beautiful, and sweet person and I am just so sorry for all the hurt you’ve experienced.
Amélie says:
You are very lucky to have had these strong, beautiful women in your life. I’m so sorry for you and so many other people that do-overs are not possible in these situations.
*hugs*
Ashley says:
Reading about the moments you would do-over brought me back to the moment I would do-over. I was 12 when my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. She wanted to live and die in our home instead of being in a hospital. One night near the end I sat by her bed and looked at her hand that was hanging near the edge of the bed. My heart told me to hold it one last time, but my mind told me to let her rest and not disturb her. I never got the chance to hold her hand again and I will never forget that. She was my best friend.
I take comfort in knowing that I’ll hold her hand again someday.
Lizard Breath says:
I know we all wish we could give you a do over. You consistently bring joy into the lives of othersby being you, open and honest. You make us realize that we must take advantage of the time we have with the people we love because we never know what tomorrow will bring. I hope Maddie comes to visit you in your dreams tonight, I know she only wants you to be happy.
Tara says:
I wish no one had to hurt like this. I’m so sorry, Heather.
Ania says:
I understand, Heather. I understand your decision at the funeral home, and I think it was the right one. What you would have seen wouldn’t have been *your* Maddie, and I think that all you would have gotten from it is just another image of your daughter that would haunt you. Maddie knew with every ounce of her how loved she was. I could see the strength of that love simply by viewing your posts and pictures, so the love in real life must have been all-encompassing and very powerful.
I’m so sorry about all the losses in your life. I so wish that grief wasn’t a part of love.
QueenFrigid says:
I couldn’t have said it better.
xoxo
Marlena says:
Heather,
While I am a complete stranger to you, I have followed your blog for quite some time now. I have nightmares about the kinds of events that you have somehow waded through. I am so sorry that my nightmares are your reality. I wish that I could do or say something to make it all better. It makes me smile to see your family happy. Sometimes we do not hear it enough, but…you’re doing a great job: of being Madeline’s mommy, of being Annie’s mommy, and of keeping both of your daughters alive through photos, memories, stories, and more. I hope you find some comfort in these things, especially on the bad days!
-Marlena Bell (from Georgia)
Debra @ A Frugal Friend says:
Big Hug to you Heather.
Me too…..I want my mom back again. Your friend reminded me of my mom. Her hair was different when it grew back in (all silver) during chemo….and she didn’t cover it up except for the occasional baseball cap. That’s how I remember her, with her short chemo hair.
I wish we could all get hugs from our loved ones!
Dee Dee says:
Bigs hugs Heather! And please be thankful you did not see them after all was done. My mother died 10 days after my birthday in 1997. I saw her on my birthday and made the long trek home, I wanted her to live forever but I knew it was the last time I would see her alive the day I left. It still breaks my heart to know she died without me by her side…I still despise that ass of a husband of hers who chose to not let me be there because he wanted time with her…yea asshole, you were married to her for 2 months, she was my mother for 15 years! I should have gotten to by her side!
But, enough with that rant…I went to her funeral and decided I had to see her the day before she was cremated to say good-bye…to this day I can see my poor mother, who was no longer my mother, she was a yellowed body of bruises from the cancer invading her body and causing her to bleed everywhere! Yes, it is a nightmare I relive a million times, oh how I wish I had let my mind win and not gone in there to look at her. My momma I left on my birthday was not the same woman lying in that box. So, I know there is absolutely nothing to be thankful of when speaking of losing poor Madeline but, have solice that you let your mind win….Love you Heather and I don’t even really know you… my heart goes out to you!
chris says:
This brought tears to my eyes. My best friend in the whole world died at the age of 34 after an undiagnosed blood clot (resulting from a D&C from a miscarriage) killed her unexpectedly. Her six year old son was in the room with us when we were told they couldn’t do any more to save her. When her husband and her own mother went to see her once last time – her son begged and begged to go along to see his “momma”. His daddy didn’t know what to do. His momma was the type to make that important decision – and she couldn’t. In the end, his dad decided he should not go in. When we finally did see her at the visitation, she looked absolutely nothing like herself – and I often wish he did have that last chance to see her before she no longer looked anything like herself anymore – one last hug – one last lingering touch. The problem is, you just can’t know in that moment how you will feel about certain things later on Thinking of you
Glenda says:
Heather, I lost my dad when I was 13 and I was so afraid to go to his casket. I guess I didn’t want to remember him like that! I lost my mom in 04 and I want them both back. My mom was my best friend. I miss not being able to pick up the phone and tell her all the good that has happened to me since she passed. I lost my brother in 93. My closest brother. I miss him so much and want him back! When I close my eyes and think of the 3 of them… I will always have the memories. Sending you hugs… lot of hugs…for the ones you lost especially your beautiful Maddie xo
Rachel says:
Heather, this post is so heartbreaking. I don’t know what to say, but I just had to at least say I’m listening, and I’m so, so sorry.
Michael says:
So much I want to say and yet it all sounds like complete crap – completely unhelpful. As a mother, I can’t imagine the pain. I don’t want to. I don’t think I would ever come out to the other side.
I’m so sorry you’ve had to endure this kind of pain.
Aimee says:
Huge internet hugs to you!
They are all there–the light that was once in Maddie’s eyes she is dancing in. As I told you at BlogHer I have been there when I got hit by a car at 7. I remember details, and my favorite memory is that light, and the feeling of euphoria.
The important thing to remember is, just as you have never forgotten them, and wanted to hold them, they have felt the same for you. It goes both ways Heather, and some day, I promise, and swear with all that I have, you will hold each one of them in your arms again.
M. says:
I wish there were do-overs, too. And that your friends and family (and mine) were here again. If only wishes worked, they’d only need to be wished once.
buffi says:
I understand wanting do-overs. I want to see my grandparents so bad I ache some days. This time last year, they were both here. Within six months they were both gone. So many things I want to say and do one last time.
Thank you for articulating those feelings so much better than I ever could, Heather. You are a blessing.
Amy S. says:
Wow, some of those images are good ones and it’s probably better that you didn’t see them in the end. I’m still very sorry for your loss(es) btw. As for Maddie, I wish you could forget those last images forever. I suggested to a distant friend awhile back that she check out your blog. She too has lost a child, around the same age as Madeline, after a tragic house explosion. His name was Mason and he was a sweet, precious boy. I so wish I could erase that image of his last hours from her mind forever as well. I feel so helpless but want y’all to know how much I think of you every day and pray that the hurt lets up just a little.
Skye says:
You are such a talented writer and I know you are helping thousands of people by sharing your grief so openly- and of course by sharing your Maddie with us. Yet I would give almost anything to have never heard of you and your blog if it meant Maddie would still be with you. I think of you every day and wish so badly that I could bring her back. I am so sorry. It is sweet that you appreciate your readers’ comments so much and I hope they really do bring you some comfort.
Noelle says:
So much heartache
A few years ago we went through a cluster of losses in a short period. My husband’s best friend was killed in Iraq, then my cousin (who was like a sister to me) died from a broken leg, both of my husband’s parents passed away and then my grandmother. I wish I had taken my cousin’s call two days before she died. I wish I’d never gotten on that plane in Florida, that I’d just stayed one more day to hold my grandmother’s hand as she passed away. So many regrets. But so many angels watching over us.
rachel s says:
I’d cut off my right arm to bring Maddie back like she’d never left at all.
Mijke says:
They know…
Everything you feel you need to say to them, they already know. Still. I too wish you could have them all back! Especially your precious sparkling little Maddie…
Hug
Jenni says:
I just had to come back today and tell you that this post stuck with me all day yesterday. I found myself thinking about it as I went through my routine yesterday, and I was thinking about it again this morning as I got ready for the day. It was a post that I will never forget, and I will hug my friends and family tighter than ever and I will cherish every minute that I get to spend with them. So, thank you, Heather.
Jenni
Elizabeth says:
Big hugs and lots of love coming your way!
Jaden says:
So many hugs sent your way Heather… sometimes life makes no sense. We all have our secret do-over wishes…
m says:
was just thinking about this today– the last time i saw my dad alive was the night before he died. cancer has devastated his body and he had terminal restlessness– wanted to stay alive so badly that he kept trying to get out of bed and had to be sedated. the last time he tried he opened his eyes wide and groped around for our hands to help him escape. his eyes were black as pitch, terrified, and looked nothing like the ones i knew and loved. i can conjure up the image in seconds, and sometimes it haunts me. i try to think about his crinkly smiling eyes on christmas morning instead. it is good to be there for your loved ones at the end, but it’s also so hard. it sticks with you and doesn’t go away and can suck the air out of every good thing, no matter how hard you fight for it not to.
thanks so much for writing this heather.
Molly says:
That is a lot of loss for one person to endure. You are strong and amazing.
rhonda says:
You will see them again…alive and well on the other side. Believe that if nothing else. I know it’s hard, believe me I know. I don’t know the loss of a child but, I know what having children that lose their beloved father at the ages of 8 and 10, feels like…it feel like SHIT! You would give ANYTHING to keep your children from feeling that pain! We are all here for you, keep writing.
Dawn @ What's Around the Next Bend? says:
Heather, You have touched SO many people’s lives! Thank you for saying what so many of us feel when we have had a loss but don’t know how to express it!
*Hugs*
Ray says:
You have had so much loss. I have had none.
I am so sorry. So very, very, very, very sorry.