I update this every year on my daughter's birthday:
Monday, December 17, 2012
The Empty Christmas Chair—
holidays without my daughter
My daughter Elizabeth would have turned 23 today, December 18, 2012.
Expecting Elizabeth, due to be born on Christmas Eve of 1989, had been an exciting experience. But the moment she arrived on the 18th, I felt a stab of fear. My immediate thought was, “Her head looks so small—so deformed.”
The neonatologist said, "Your daughter's brain is very small with calcium deposits throughout. If she lives, she will never roll over, sit up, or feed herself." He concluded that Elizabeth's birth defects were caused by congenital cytomegalovirus (CMV). Women who care for young children are at a higher risk for catching it because preschoolers are the majority of carriers. Pregnant women need to be careful not to kiss young children on or around the mouth or share food or towels with them.
Why hadn’t my OB/GYN warned me about this?
While I was pregnant with Elizabeth, I not only had a toddler of my own, but I also ran a licensed daycare center in my home. I felt sick at what my lack of knowledge had done to my little girl. In milder cases, children with congenital CMV may lose hearing or struggle with learning disabilities later in life. But Elizabeth's case was not a mild one.
When my husband Jim heard Elizabeth's grim prognosis, he stared at her and said, “She needs me”—just like Charlie Brown with that pathetic Christmas tree.
It took me about a year, but I eventually stopped praying that a nuclear bomb would drop on my house so I could escape my overwhelming anguish over Elizabeth's condition. Life did become good again—but it took a lot of help from family, friends, and the Book of Psalms. We were eventually able to move forward as a happy, "normal" family.
Sixteen years later, I awoke feeling so proud of Elizabeth. It was her 16th birthday and just one week before her 17th Christmas. When the song “I’ll be home for Christmas” played on the radio, I cried thinking how hard Elizabeth fought to be home with us, overcoming several battles with pneumonia, major surgeries, and most recently, seizures. Weighing only 50 pounds, she looked funny to strangers as a result of her small head and adult teeth, but she was lovely to us with her long, brown hair, large blue eyes and soul-capturing smile. Although still in diapers and unable to speak or hold up her head, Elizabeth was very happy and loved going for long car rides. She especially enjoyed going to school and being surrounded by people, paying no mind to the stares of “normal” children who thought she belonged on the "Island of Misfit Toys."
Less than two months after she turned 16, I dropped Elizabeth off at school. Strapping her into her wheelchair, I held her face in my hands, kissed her cheek, and said, “Now be a good girl today.” She smiled as she heard her teacher say what she said every time, “Elizabeth is always a good girl!” With that, I left.
At the end of the day, I got the call I had always feared. “Mrs. Saunders, Elizabeth had a seizure and she’s not breathing." The medical team did all they could, but she was gone.
While holding Elizabeth’s body on his lap, my husband looked down into her partially open, lifeless eyes and cried, “No one is ever going to look at me again the way she did.”
Now, as I prepare to celebrate my seventh Christmas without her, it is with some heartache that I bring down the holiday decorations from the attic. Elizabeth used to love to sit on the couch with her big, formerly homeless old dog Riley, and watch us decorate.
Now, I perform a new Christmas tradition. I carefully unfold the black and red checked shirt Elizabeth wore on her last day and hang it over an empty chair beside our fireplace. Although she can't be home for Christmas, I feel that she is my “Tiny Tim” who would say if she could, “God bless us, everyone!”
Although I miss Elizabeth, I’m glad she is free from suffering, glad she is safe in her new, Heavenly home. When my time comes, I will see her again.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
When my daughter died, my dad wrote this short fairytale. Perhaps The Woodcutter's Tale will help others: Lisa Saunders: Death of a child--The Woodcutter's Tale: Once upon a time long, long ago in a far-away land lived Patrius, a woodcutter, and his wife Matilda. They had a 19-year-old daughter, F...