Abby is gone. All that’s left of her is an empty shell. That is what the expert from NYU, who went to the hospital to evaluate my precious niece and give my sister a second opinion, told my family earlier. There is nothing left of her. All those moments when it seemed that she could hear our prayers over her, all those times she opened her sweet little mouth and winced her face trying to cry, might just have been involuntary reflexes. All this time we thought she was fighting, she was only sleeping. She might already have gone home to be with God.
I never wanted to believe that. Even now, my heart will not accept it. How can that be true? How can she be gone when we only got to keep her for such a short time? We never got to hear her laugh or see her take her first steps. We’ll never get to know what kind of child, what kind of girl, what kind of woman she would have been. She’ll never know how wonderful and beautiful and tragic this world can be.
All I have left are a few precious hours engrained in my mind, when I held her in my arms and felt amazed at how much love I could feel for something so small.
Today, my sister got to hold her baby for the first time in four weeks… minutes before they told her that her baby was gone. Instead of planning Abby’s first Christmas, she is planning her funeral.
There are just no words…