Days Continue on Earth

Life has handed this family more heartache than one could fathom as bearable. All I wanted for this session was to honor their story and give them moments that capture their love. What you’re about to read are honest words from a mother and the hard truth behind loss and grief. What I hope you feel is the strength of love and the warm light from a very special little girl that continues to shine.

Love For Rory

Two years ago today, our three-year old daughter was running towards the swings on the playground when she collapsed. Her legs gave out and she gracefully fell to the ground. In that moment our lives changed and they would never go back to the way they were.

I can remember the most precise seconds of that day. I can remember the thrill on Rory’s face as we paddled around the lake just an hour before she collapsed. I remember her rosy cheeks in the Florida heat. I also remember the terror in her eyes as I picked her up and realized the left side of her body was paralyzed. I can remember frantically looking around, yelling for someone to call 911 and seeing an older woman reading a book on a bench, never lifting her eyes from the book to see what was happening. I remember it all.

The next two months followed with a survival flight back to Michigan, emergency open-heart surgery, a stroke, physical therapy, chemo, coma and death. So much happened in two months time. And every year from January 19th to March 28th we relive it all.

I want to write down everything that Rory’s life and death has taught us. I want to tell you all about the life of a bereaved parent and how to best help them grieve. I want to educate you on the facts of childhood cancer. I think that all would be so honoring of Rory, but I cannot, because the mere fact that we mustered up the courage to have family photos taken without Rory physically here, has depleted all energy I had for the next year. 

BUT what I must tell you, the absolute most valuable and urgent piece of information I MUST relay to you is that my love for Rory has not died. If you take nothing else away from this except the last sentence, then I have honored Rory. My love for her runs deep in my veins. In every cell of my body. Her memory is always at the forefront of my mind. I would not be the person I am today, if I had not met my beautiful daughter. I would still be a shell of a person if my soul had not collided with hers. 

As our days continue on this Earth, she remains 3 years, 1 month and 17 days old. Stuck in my mind at such a tender age. Brooks is nearing that same age in these photos. So much like his sister yet so very different. It brings comfort and a great deal of pain at the same time. I look in his eyes and see his big sister, but it’s not her. I hear his laugh and it sounds so very familiar. Life is bittersweet and it seems that the one who brings me the greatest joy, also makes my grief feel like a knife to the chest. This is the raw, honest truth.

I assure you, the happiness you see in these photos is real. I am not one to fake my feelings. The saying is true, grief never ends, you just learn to live with it. Our sorrow coincides with our joy. And we find joy and hope in the most unlikely places these days; the presence of another bereaved parent or a sermon on death and despair. Some people are petrified of these things, but for us; we are unafraid.

We are re-learning how to function and live as a family again. Just as when you bring home a new baby, when a child dies, there’s a period where you adapt. You find a new normal.  Some parents fight that period of time, insisting that it stay the same even though life is completely different. That was me. And I have found that it takes longer to adjust and find respite this way. 

When your child dies, it is usually a very pivotal point in your life. Whether purposely or sub-consciously, you typically make certain vows to yourself and this life you are forced to live. At least I did. I vowed to accept every feeling that entered my mind; joy, sorrow, anger, resentment, and to allow it to just be. There was a reason I felt this way and I would no longer fight my feelings. I vowed to be more compassionate and to listen for understanding. To never be too busy to lend a listening ear or a helping hand. I vowed to never give up. Even on those days I never left my bed, I would try again tomorrow. That even with this deep grief, I would try to be a good mom for Brooks. That I would not allow this tragedy to make me someone I’m not. I vowed to grow my faith exponentially. That I was done wasting my time wondering if and how and why. That I would connect with God on a deeper level and that I would not allow outside factors to affect my spirituality. 

I say it over and over and I’ll say it again, I would give it all back. This different perspective, this personal realization, this newfound wisdom. I’d trade it in a heartbeat. I’d trade my own life for hers. But the truth is, I can’t. As badly as I wish I could, I cannot. 

What I CAN accept is that Rory has made us better people. She has changed me in ways that I would have never expected. And not just because she died, but because of who she was and how she lived her life. I am the lucky one and I do not use that term loosely anymore. I am sincerely lucky that she called ME mom. 

-Mary

Rory’s and Brooks’s mama

We look to the Heavens and wait for eternity. You guide us, you shape us, you led us straight to Jesus. For that I am thankful. We fight cancer, we cry, we scream out in agony at a battle you did not ask for. We hold hope for this suffering world, that one day it will be free of disease and how God intended it to be. So we take small steps towards that. We stay prayerful, we try and stay present. We never give up because you never quit. You just kept going.