When we started this blog, we believed that today, February 28, 2019, would not come for Katherine.
We’d lost our first child from an early miscarriage. Then, we found ourselves shocked and shattered as we looked into the tear-filled eyes of neurologists telling us to, “Go home and love our daughter.” Our precious Rainbow Baby was slowly dying before our eyes.
As we pushed for answers to the cause of her neurodegenerative disease, we were utterly lost and terrified. Terrified of what they would find, terrified of the pain she might feel, terrified of watching her take her last breath and losing her forever. Amidst our fears, we had to find the strength to face these fears – strength I didn’t believe I had inside of me.
I remember sitting inside a pediatric surgery center and looking around the room into the eyes of a couple dozen frightened parents awaiting news. The look in their eyes still haunts me. I didn’t need a mirror to show me that I had the same terrified look in my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I had nowhere to run to make it all go away. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare and go on with my life. All at once I was angry, confused, scared, and sad. I desperately wanted to believe it wasn’t true, but it was really happening. It was real and I could not stop it. Please, I pleaded with the universe, please make this stop. Why, I questioned? Why is life so unfair? My sweet, innocent daughter did not deserve this. It was an incredibly helpless feeling.
I had fallen into utter despair with no light to see me through it. In my very worst moment, I closed my eyes, quieted my thoughts, and had the most incredible vision:
Dave and I were walking on an empty beach. It was a beautiful beach with white sand, blue water, a gentle warm breeze was blowing in our hair and on our faces. We were smiling and content. Peace surrounded us. Ahead, Katherine wore a yellow swimsuit and played in the sand with her back to us. She was looking toward the water, but in my heart I knew she was happy and having fun. We were all together on that beach and we were happy. As we walked in the sand toward Katherine, it felt as though we were walking in paradise.
This vision and feeling has and continues to sustain me through my darkest hours. I found my strength in my lowest place.
Thank you for reading our words and loving our daughter. Just a few short years ago we had little reason to hope that Katherine would live to see February 28, 2019. Yet today, Rare Disease Day 2019, was an average, normal day for us. Katherine got up, ate breakfast, and walked into school with the assistance of her walker and her aide. She asked me if I would paint her nails glittery pink before her tutoring session tonight. As she walked away, I looked back and smiled.
An average day is the most beautiful thing in the world. May you all find the joy in every glorious, average day of your life.