I‘ve come to accept that I-Cell kids won’t grow bigger than
15lb to 20lb. They get sick often. They may never talk or walk. They might not even learn to sit on their
own. I’ve even accepted, in an abstract
way, that their lives will end way too soon.
But that abstraction allowed room for denial. And denial is a powerful protective tool.
Gabby has always had a special place in my heart. She didn’t even live in the same country and
yet I felt profoundly close to her. I
beamed with pride (the way a mother would) when I watched a video of her
rolling over or playing with toys. Each
stunning photograph of Gabby filled me with deep satisfaction, as if I could
somehow claim credit for some of that beauty. And
even though there was the distance of miles between us, I felt certain that I
would meet her one day. It just seemed
natural. If the muscles of my arms could
talk, they would speak of their eagerness and readiness to hold Gabrielle. It just seemed natural.
I just cannot accept her death. Not today.
Not before I’ve had the chance to hold her. She really does seem like family to me.
When I read about her death today I just walked out of the cafe
I was in, without a word to the people I was with and wept outside on the
street.
Life is so unfair. Gabby caught a cold that was going around her house and breathed her last breath yesterday.
Rest in peace Gabrielle.
I really have fallen in love with you.
 |
| Gabrielle, October 13th, 2010 - June 7th, 2013 |
 |
No comments:
Post a Comment