Dear baby Ella,
You will never be forgotten. On that tragic day 5 years ago, all our family's lives changed forever.
I held your fragile body in my arms, told you I loved you, then the nurse took you. Took you right out of my 8 year old, confused arms. I didn't know what was going on. I thought I had hurt you. No, turns out it was a brain bleed.
Everyone gave me excuses as to why I couldn't hold you. "You'll see her everyday," they would say, a part of me doubting them. When it was my turn to hold you, I looked down and saw your little angel face looking up at me. A tad bit purple around the edges, your face was dry. I was worried. I didn't know what a newborn baby was supposed to look like. When I said "Welcome to the world, sissy" I swear you looked up and smiled. A tiny baby smile, yet it meant so much.
The next three days were great. I was a very happy big sister. Smiled when anyone asked how you or Mom were doing. Proudly ate the frozen meals Mommy had made us the week before.
Four days after your birth, I was at Aunt Sandee's while Mommy and Daddy were at the hospital, visiting you. She came in and told Rylea and I that it was an emergency, that we needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. I scrambled to get you're 5 year old sister's shoes on, as well as my own. Moments later, we were all piled up in her silver Buik, me in the front seat. I knew it was illegal. But that wasn't my main concern at that point in time. I just wanted to get to the hospital as soon as we could. Rylea was in her booster, humming an unknown tune to the radio.
We got about 15 miles from the hospital, in the parking lot of a Love's gas station. It was raining, dark and dreary. Sandee had just gotten off the phone. The roads were bad, so for our safety she had pulled off the interstate, the Love's being the closest quick stop. She had that glossy look in her eyes, like she was holding back tears.
I already didn't really like Sandee. She wasn't technically my aunt, just Uncle Danny's girlfriend of two years. She treated me like a three year old, and her daughter wasn't very nice either.
At that moment, I heard a loud clap of thunder. Sandee turned to me, and said the three words that I now wince at the sound of. "It's too late." At that point in time, I didn't know how greatly ten letters could or would affect my life. We didn't even finish going to the hospital that night. Just turned around and went home.
Mom and dad came home about midnight, not saying a word as we climbed into the Dodge Durango, still equipped with the baby seat you were supposed to come home in. I cried the whole way home. Soft, long sobs. No one heard me. Rylea didn't know what was going on. All she knew was that our baby sister wasn't going to be coming home with us.
No one slept that night. I didn't go to school for the next week. There was too much on my mind. I told Mom I felt sick, but really I just couldn't stand the thought of being happy when you would never get the chance to be. People would come to visit Mom and Dad, to comfort them, console them. People I had never even met. People we had known for years. More frozen casseroles filled our deepfreeze than I could count. People would comfort Rylea because she was small. Mom and Dad because it was you, their precious baby girl, that we had lost. No one ever tried to comfort me like they did Mom, Dad, and Rylea. I was older, more mature. I supposedly knew what was going on, but in reality I was scared silly. I was the last one in that delivery room to hold you. Only one to see your tiny, sweet smile.
Three days after I heard the bad news, there was a funeral. I had been to funerals before, but never to one where it was for someone so dear to me. Our family sat in the front three rows on the right side, everyone clearly trying not to try. I still remember the songs they played while your casket was carried in and out. "Father's Eyes" by Amy Grant. You did have Daddy's eyes. Blue, like the ocean, but not too blue for your blonde-ish-brown-ish hair. They were just the right shade of blue.
We drove to the cemetary in silence. I wanted to go hide in a corner. My eyes were all puffy and red from the funeral, I didn't want to be in there for the service. I sat in the bathroom, in a locked stall, and cried til it was hard to breathe. We got to the cemetary where I saw a hole, a perfect rectangle, that they put the casket in. I hid behind Grandma so everyone who was there wouldn't see me crying. After all, I was the mature sister. The one who was there to comfort Rylea, not the one who was there to cry her eyes out.
They lowered the casket, and, surprising myself, I threw in the necklace I had worn everyday since I was five. I don't know why I did it, I wanted you to have a piece of me with you forever, no matter what.
The next few days after that remained difficult. I didn't go to school, Rylea didn't go to school, Mom and Dad didn't go to work. We all grieved together. Grief counseling, then normal counseling. They helped a little, but I still felt like part of me was missing.
Now, five years later, I still pray everynight. Pray that nothing bad will ever happen again. I know that's not possible, but it helps to dream. I pray that you're having a good time, wherever you may be. That you will never be forgotten.
Love,
Kelly. (Sissy, to you. )
