Hannah

Every year on this Sunday before Memorial Day I get reflective.  It was 18 years ago today that I would find out that the baby girl I was carrying would need to be delivered 3 months early.  I was barely 27 weeks pregnant with her.  The pregnancy had been rough especially in caparison to my previous two.  I spent the weekend incredibly ill and it became apparent that something was terribly wrong as the weekend progressed.  I called the doctor who told me to get to the hospital.  Everything became a whirlwind after I got to the hospital.  Tests were run and the doctor came in to let me know that Hannah would need to be delivered soon or we would both not make it.  I had pre-eclampsia and it was pretty advanced.  She had a 50% chance of survival after birth.  It all happened so fast.  All I remember was the doctors told us that if she cried when she was delivered it was a good sign so I lay there on the operating table praying that she would cry.  Seconds after delivery I heard a cry and I began to cry.  I also heard the nurses and doctors talking about how they had a feisty one on their hands and it made me smile.  Hannah would spend 96 grueling days in NICU with many ups and downs.  So many times we thought we may lose her but she fought for life like no other and would come home with her family weighing a little over 4 pounds at three months old. 

At 7 months of age she would have her first seizure.  It was terrifying.  I’ve had many terrifying experiences but nothing as terrifying as this one.  She was lying in bed next to me when I felt her go completely stiff and stop breathing.  This was the beginning of many terrifying moments over the next eight and a half years.  We would go through medication after medication trying to get control without much success.  Every med came with terrible side effects.  The ones that seemed to work best affected her in such a way that she was not the Hannah we all knew.  It was heart breaking to watch what she would go through.  At one point we had a medication that appeared to keep seizures at bay, but we had a zombie child on our hands and she was miserable all the time.  No seizures but no life.  Hannah would not have seizures daily or even often.  When she did have a seizure however it was usually a status seizure which would require an emergency hospital stay where we would have to be care flighted to Cook’s Children’s in Fort Worth.  We’d begin in the Pediatric ICU in a coma state and gradually be brought out in hopes that the status seizure did not return or that she would even regain consciousness.  Often Hannah would lose her ability to walk and talk correctly and have to relearn.  She always surprised us and fought her way back and regained any skills lost each time.  Often within days.

In 2009 Hannah would be blessed with a seizure and Autism assistance dog from 4paws for Ability.  That dog was a golden retriever named Koolio.  We still have him and he is the sweetest smartest dog you’ll ever meet.  It would be Koolio that would alert me to a seizure early the morning of January 13^th 2010 and give me the opportunity to spend some precious last moments with my beautiful girl.  I will forever be grateful that when Hannah had her last seizure before leaving this life she was not alone.  I had been alerted that one was coming hours before it happened.  I would ready all the things I needed in case it was a “big” one and it needed medial intervention to stop it.  I would then climb in bed next to my girl and wrap my arms around her and hold her close for what was the very last time.  Those precious moments comfort me to this day.

On January 16^th it became apparent that Hannah was not improving but getting worse.  Every few moments we got more and more bad news.  Her kidneys began shutting down on the 15^th.  She was not responding to attempts to bring her out of the coma she was in.  There were others but those were the two biggest.  I knew in my gut that this had been the one that got her.  This was the one she would not come back from.  Still I hoped.  I remember going into the parent shower in the ICU and kneeling in the corner praying for a miracle and telling God that if He was going to take Hannah home that He would need to give me the strength to survive it because I just didn’t know if I could.  The next day the doctors would tell us she was brain dead and we’d need to make the decision to let her go.  In a million years I would never have imagined we’d ever have to do something like that.  Make the decision to allow them to remove all life support from our girl and let her die in our arms.  It was unimaginable.  I’ve never felt such pain and defeat in my life.  My life changed that day forever.  We called in all of Hannah’s family, friends, and teachers.  Anyone that wanted to say goodbye to her.  Once everyone had the opportunity to do so we would go in as a family; David, myself, our boys, and Koolio.  We would all sit on a couch with Hannah in our laps.  I would sing our song, “I love my Hannah…she loves me too…I love my Hannah…in everything we do” for the very last time.  Her daddy would also sing to her while her brothers held onto her tight.  Koolio would lick her feet like he always did.  It was so like nothing you can ever imagine.  She would just peacefully stop breathing in our arms surrounded by a magnitude of love.

Hannah was a fighter.  She fought for life and she lived life like no other.  She seriously loved people and she made them feel special.   It’s so hard to describe.  You just had to experience her to understand.  She loved music; all kinds of music, shoes, school/learning, Sponge Bob, her brothers, and so many other things.  I often tell people that she was an angel sent smack from heaven to her momma.  I believe that with all of my heart.  Hannah came to me at a time in my life when I was severely depressed, barely functioning, and feeling like the world would be better off without me.  Watching Hannah fight for life the way she did inspired me to fight for mine.  She continues to inspire me.  I owe it to her to live every moment of this life if for no other reason than that she can’t.  I live for us both. 

To tell Hannah’s story is impossible to do in a short blog post. Ha!  I’ve tried to hit the highlights.  I wish you all could have known her.  She would have impacted your life in a positive way I am sure.  As our family maneuvers the coming days and celebrates an 18^th birthday without her I hope that you all will celebrate your own families and remember the blessings they are even in the hardest of times.  Don’t take a moment for granted.  Moms and dads get in those family photos.  Who cares what you look like!  Some day it may be all you have but the memories you hold dear in your heart and head.  Live, Love, Take Risks.  We are never promised tomorrow.  It sounds so cliché, but it is oh so true. 

To Hannah, you are missed and loved more than you can ever know.  I remain grateful for your life and love every day.  You were a force for life and inspiration to all that knew you.  I am a better person because I knew and loved you.  Thank you, sweet girl, for being you!  All my love always, momma.