Another Ivy leaf unfurls

Describing Ivys death in my last blog was a contest of water resistant keyboards and absorbant paper towels.   The idea of sharing my thoughts and feelings with others would of horrified me beyond words just a short time ago.  Writing this blog has allowed me to give thought and consideration to each part of Ivy's tragic loss.  I find I like to compare things....and use them to describe how things (crazy, looney things sometimes) run through my mind. 

The storm broke suddenly, violent tendrils of rain streaking towards the earth.  Gathering, piling, and flowing until the single drop becomes a rivulet, then a tendril, racing onward to gather in streams and flowing into rivers broad and swift.  Then this unstoppable force calms as it enters into the tributary of a lake,  the water spreading its broad wings across the surface as it adds it weight and power to the already immense stored pressure.  Where must this pressure go?  This undaunted power that refuses to remain contained, pushing relentlessly on the flood gates until finally straining and buckling they loose there contents once again into the river. 

This is how I feel about what happened with Ivy.  The sudden appearance of grief.  The undiminishing force of it as it pours into your soul.  To try and hold something back of that magnitude would be impossible,  not only impossible but unwise and wrong.  To not let the grief pour out is to try and stop something that is not meant to be held.  I know many of you call and ask how I am doing and sometimes I break down on the phone,  other times i am not as communicative as I could be and yet others I act as though all is fine.  It is difficult may days to hold it in when you are trying to accomplish what needs doing that day.  From working, school, and most important family.  As I mentioned above I like to compare so to be fair I must describe what happens after the dam bursts.

The clouds break,  streamers of warm clean sun shining through the droplets.  Refracting off of each one and throwing prizms of light out to others to repeat the effect.  The pressure on the flood gates ease as other streams and rivers feeding the lake slow the flow and relieve the tension.  The empty flooded landscape slowly absorbs the water and new life comes forth from the old.  Fresh flowers and plants spreading accross large swaths of fields.  The growth is slow but steady moving forward from a desolated bleak landscape to one filled with the sights, sounds and feeling of life. 

Everytime someone calls me,  talks to me or prays for me and my family it helps lessen the load.  Its not always easy to talk about her but it would be a diservice to Ivy to not share all the love we had for her, and more importantly the love she had for us. 

Somedays my posts will be rain, other days sunny.  Even possibly a snowstorm or blizzard depending on the day.  My grief runs deep,  buried under many emotions that I must face and work through but more important is my love for my family and for my little Ivy. 

So please do what all of you are already doing, writing, talking, calling.  Everybit helps and even though I might not have the strength everyday to thank everyone I hope that they know I am borrowing on their will, love and courage to get through each day and am immensly grateful.

As always I will write again after I have sorted through my emotions.  Know that I love you all with more love than I thought my heart could hold...the love of a little girl named Ivy.

Once again I love you Ivy.
Daddy

Ivy Leaves - The death of a child

Starting out is always the hardest part.  Moving that first step forward to begin a journey of unknown length and time, knowingly opening oneself to happiness, grief, wonder, sadness and all the emotions to come.  

This is my first step.  The first of many to come.  Some large, some small, but always moving forward towards the acceptance and understanding that I so desperately need.

My name is Justin. I have a wonderful wife named Michele and together we have 3 wonderful daughters.  Two 6 year old twins that couldn't be more different in looks or personality and our 3 year old daughter Ivy.  All of our girls have special qualities about them and are special to us.  One of Ivy's gifts was her long curly hair and a beautiful smile,  people would stop us in the store and tell us what a beautiful child she was.  We of course agreed but I do admit to being a little biased about it.

On Oct 4th 2011 I woke up at five AM to get ready for another day of school and work.  I found my wife already up with Ivy.  I descended the stairs to them and asked what was wrong.  Ivy was feeling some pain in her stomach and felt warm to the touch.  We decided that I would take her to the emergency room just to make sure that she was alright.  Doing what most parents do,  needing the reassurance of a professional that all was right with those we love most.  My wife had been up with her so I took her to the ER and we were checked in at the desk.  Ivy sat in my lap wrapped up in her favorite yellow blanket that she drew comfort from.  We were taken into the ER and put in a room.  Ivy laying on the bed and chatting with me about many things....minor things I know but what I would not give to remember the exact wording,,,,the phrasing and the sound of her little voice as she giggled and laughed.  The nurse came in first and took her temperature it was over 103 degrees.  Then they had Ivy use the restroom and save it in a cup for lab purposes.  It came back with all sorts of information about white blood count and such.  Many which were very high.  At this point I started to worry for my little one until the doctor reassured me that it was just a urinary tract infection and that he would prescribe a oral antibiotic to take home and give to her.  

Feeling much better about the situation now that I had been reassured by a professional I filled the prescription at the hospital pharmacy and immediately gave her the first dose.  Carrying her in my arms with her head next to mine she was completely wrapped up in her favorite yellow blankie.  As we left the building to go out to the van she wrapped her arms around my neck and said "I love you daddy"  I replied that I loved her to and gave her a kiss on the cheek.  As I was fastening her seatbelt she asked me " Daddy will you always protect me?"  I thought it an odd question but assured her that I would always protect her from anything.

I drove her home with her quietly humming to herself in the back of the van and left her with my wife.  I left for school and decided to stay late because I needed to catch up on some homework.  So I turned off my phone and studied.  At 1PM I turned it back on and found dozens of messages.  Before I could read any of them my phone rang, it was my father telling me that Michele had gone to give Ivy her 2nd dose of antibiotics and had found her not breathing.  She had performed CPR and had been taken to the hospital by ambulance and was being lifeflighted from there to Primary Childrens Medical Center in Salt Lake City.  I parked my van in a lot next to school not being able to drive as tears coursed down my face.  My mother drove up with my wife and picked me up.  I climbed into the car and held my wife and sobbed for my little girl.  Terrified beyond reason that we would wind up being one of "those other" parents that bad things happen to.  Upon arrival at the hospital we sprinted in and between sobs we managed to get our daughters name out and were immediately were taken upstairs to the ICU.  We were sat in a private room and asked to wait until the doctor could come see us.  The doctor came in to what I can only describe as a whirlwind of questions and hysterical emotions.  We found that Ivy was on a ventilator and being kept alive by machines.  They did not know anything yet but suspected septic shock.  Her organs had mostly shut down and was not breathing on her own.  The loss and despair of this was such a numbing shock that I felt I would never feel warmth again as ice coursed through my veins and despair overwhelmed my mind.  

All through the long night my wife and I, family and friends sat by her bedside holding her hand.  Taking turns with her as long as possible before leaving for a short time to grieve in private.  The doctor was honest and told us that it was very bad and things were not going well.  I called family and friends from that hospital waiting room....pouring out my tears and fear.  Losing the battle with hope I spiraled further and further into a never ending abyss.  The next morning my wife and I sat together,  bleary eyes and muddled minds from the long arduous night.  The doctor sat with us and explained that our little ones mind was gone and there was no longer any hope.  A lance of pain and agony sank itself into my soul as all hope was finally taken from us.  We chose to let her go with dignity and love.  So at 8:15 AM on October 5th we held our little girl in our arms for her final minutes.  I held her little body as tight as I could in my arms and told her that it was ok.  That I loved her and it was ok to let go.  That we loved her more that anything and we would trade places with her in an instant.  As family surrounded us I held my dying child in my arms and sobbed out my love to her.  Burying her face with kisses.  Then....she was gone and my world was over.  What to do,  what to say, how to live now that my child was gone.  We gently laid her down on the bed and left the room.  

I will stop for now but will continue the narration in a few days.  A few days to shed a few more tears and ponder what I want to say next.  

Even though I will think on what to put next I know that the last thing I will write today is

"I love you to Ivy"  

Daddy.