Easter and other stuff

We ended up having a very nice Easter. My aunt sent these adorable outfits for them that worked perfectly and they got not one, but two, Easter egg hunts. We're still in the throughs of cold, flu, and RSV season so they're still quarantined, so no family egg hunt with their 10 other cousins. It was good practice, 'cause next year they'll have quite a bit of competition when hunting eggs.

While we missed Zoe terribly and there were definite moments for both Richard and I when her absence was so apparent, God gave us a little gift that brought us each a smile...Avery took her first steps! I wouldn't call her an official walker just yet, she's still VERY cautious, but she did it. And not to be outdone by her sister...Lily took a few steps towards Richard a few days later.

We've started grief counseling with a lovely older couple who lost their teenage son 21 years ago. After one session with them I did feel hopeful...the wife said that I can choose to become bitter or I can choose to become better by this experience. She said sho would help me become better. I'll write more about that later...for now, here are some recent pics of the girls

Who knew you could have so much fun in a Huggies box?

Namo, Avery and Lily on Easter


Lily loved finding eggs

And so did Avery

Abby needed a lift in our Mountain Buggy

she fits perfectly under the girls!

Saturday morning sweetness

Lily before her haircut

Lily and Alice after the big haircut

Avery's "mean" face

Family picture taken on my birthday

Zoe's flower is on the right next to me, a little

camouflaged by the background

That yummy strawberry coconut cake!

One month

It has been a month since Zoe died. I can't believe that many days have passed already. In some ways I keep trying to make time stand still because the more days that pass the farther I move away from her...at least I feel like I'm moving farther away and having to try even harder to remember. It's not that I don't remember...it's just that the memories are like snapshots, as if I'm looking at a photo of the memory or a video rather than actually remembering the moment and feeling what it felt like to be in that particular moment with her. I have had only one dream that she was in only I never saw her. I knew she was there, but I woke up before I got to see her...I was devastated, I was so close, I only had to go around the corner and there she would have been.

I can't say a whole lot has improved in my emotional state and after all it has only been one month, I'm not sure what I'm expecting or hoping for because what I ultimately and desperately hope for can't happen, she's gone, she's not here anymore and what I really want is to have her sitting right here next me as I type. I have good days and bad days, good moments where I can talk about her and recount her last days without shedding a tear and then the very next moment I talk about her I fall to pieces. There is no rhyme or reason to it and I guess there isn't supposed to be. I really don't do well with unpredictable, uncontrollable situations and this is no different.

I kind of feel like I'm splitting into two beings...one that goes about her day, takes care of Avery and Lily, does what needs to be done at home, etc. and then there's this other being that just kind of floats above it all. It's almost like in the loss of Zoe I've lost myself. I joined a Yahoo! group for parents of multiples who have lost a child or children at any point in pregnancy or after...it's called eLIMBO...which is the perfect name because I do feel like I'm in limbo...just kind of hanging there in space. Time keeps passing, days keep going by and at the same time I'm trying to put on the brakes or at least just kind of hang out in space. I'm not ready for life to keep going, but I can't stop it. It keeps moving, days keep passing, Avery and Lily keep growing...and Zoe is still gone.

I think this post is a bit rambling, I'm having trouble articulating exactly where I am right now. It is totally new territory and unlike the NICU experience where you have milestones to work towards (off the vent, off oxygen, first feeding, first bottle, first holding, etc.), with the loss of a child, what do you have to look forward to? What are the milestones you're supposed to reach for? There are none. It just hurts. Lately it's been hurting worse, my longing for her has increased, my desire to hold her just a minute longer...I now regret leaving the hospital when we did after she died. We spent a few hours there with her, but I wish I had spent more hours with her, I wish I had held her longer. I remember tracing my finger all over her tiny body, tracing the curve of her ear resting on the little freckle in front of her right ear, looking at each finger, each toe, following the plumpness of her cheeks, the perfect heart shape of her lips, trying to ingrain in my mind not only the look of her features but the feel of them. I remember how I would hold her close to me, forehead to forehead and my nose fit perfectly in the curve of her forehead that travels down to her nose. It was like two puzzle pieces that just fit, were made for one another. When I held her for the last time she was no longer warm, and had started to become stiff. That's why we left when we did, we wanted to remember holding her when she was alive and warm. I even remember picking her up that last time and hearing the creaking in her bones...but once I had her laying against my chest, it was just like before. The weight of her little body against me. My baby. My little girl. My angel.

I've emailed with several wonderful people who have poured their hearts out to me about their own losses they've experienced and their will to go on and raise the rest of their multiples. Many people say that the hurt never goes away, it just kind of softens over time. They also say that the person they were before the loss is no longer, a new person emerges. How long does it take to figure out who that person is? I'm just not sure who I am anymore. I'm a mom to Avery and Lily and I pray to God that I am not faltering in mothering them while I mourn the death of Zoe. But I'm different, I'm not sure how exactly, just that I know I'm not the same. I have such a mix of emotion that happens throughout the day, each day, each minute sometimes I don't even realize it's happening. They'll do something that makes me smile, or laugh, but just behind that joy is this profound sadness, this grief that washes over me. It really is like living in this ocean of sadness, like the tides it comes over me and then recedes and then washes over again and recedes, then again and recedes. It seems endless, sometimes it's more violent and aggressive, and sometimes it just seems to barely lap over me...but it's always there.

I've had my first birthday without Zoe...which Richard did an absolutely superb job of making a very bittersweet day, enjoyable. We had close family here for a down home southern lunch (thanks to Richard) and Avery and Lily got to have their first bites of their Daddy's culinary expertise. He made me the most delicious strawberry coconut cake and as a treat this last weekend he took me to a place called Serenbe, south of Atlanta in Palmetto, GA. It was pure relaxation and calm. We just enjoyed each other, talked about Zoe, cried about her, missed her, loved her, took walks, took naps, and ate yummy food. For a day that had all the makings of being miserable, he did an amazing job of making me feel loved despite the huge hole in my heart.

Our first Easter without her is approaching...last Easter was a very special day for us. The girls were all still in the NICU, with Avery and Lily in the step down nursery. We got special permission to bring Avery and Lily over to visit Zoe. It was the first time we had all three girls in the same room and we took our first family photo. It was a beautiful, wonderful day. One of those days you want to remember forever...but you also expect that the next one will be even better...I haven't even bought Easter dresses for the girls. I've been shopping for them once since Zoe died and I had to deliberately stop myself from buying in threes. It didn't feel right to only buy two Easter baskets either.

I guess the next year will be full of these "firsts" for us...the moments that are especially painful are the firsts without her that I expected would be our first this or that with all three girls at home...like my birthday and Easter. I never got a professional family photo taken of the 5 of us, which really saddens me, we have only a handful of snapshots. I was waiting for the weather to improve, Zoe to get stronger with sitting by herself and Avery and Lily to maybe start walking. I spoke with a very good friend of mine who is a photographer, she said we ought to have some sort of symbol to represent Zoe in our family photos. I've chosen to always have a flower of some sort in those photos...we actually took a family photo on my birthday and Richard held a beautiful blossom from the pink Camellia bush outside the nursery. It is so weird to see only four of us. It's just not complete. The hole is so large.

Life does continue to go on....it has to. Lily has had her first haircut. Both she and Avery are on the verge of walking and may only need to see the GI doc once more in a couple of months. They're eating great, drinking well, and I've been making most of their food now which is very gratifying to see them like something I made for them. Their communication skills are wonderful, they understand everything we say to them even if they don't talk except in one syllable sounds. They are beautiful, growing little girls....amazing that that they are only just now one year old adjusted age.

So I have to thank everyone again for all the emails, the cards, the contributions....we are astonished and excited about the Zoe Rose Memorial Foundation. We've decided it will be an actual working non-profit so that we can have a real impact on little ones like Zoe for years to come. We'll get a website up before too long and we'll have our first meeting in another month or so. I also appreciate so much the folks that simply say "I have no words...I don't know what to say" believe it or not, that helps so much because there isn't anything perfect to say at this time. There are no magic words to make me feel better, but knowing you're thinking about us means you're thinking about Zoe and THAT keeps her spirit alive.

Following is a poem that was sent to Richard shortly after Zoe died, it pretty much says everything perfectly and I thought I'd share it here. I'll get some pictures up of Avery and Lily and maybe even a little video footage of the big haircut.

Don't Tell Me
Please don't tell me you know how I feel,

Unless you have lost your child too,

Please don't tell me my broken heart will heal,

Because that is just not true,

Please don't tell me my daughter is in a better place,

Though it is true, I want her here with me,

Don't tell me someday I'll hear her voice, see her face,

Beyond today I cannot see,

Don’t tell me it is time to move on,

Because I cannot,

Don’t tell me to face the fact she is gone,

Because denial is something I can't stop,

Don't tell me to be thankful for the time I had,

Because I wanted more,

Don't tell me when I am my old self you will be glad,

I'll never be as I was before,

What you can tell me is you will be here for me,

That you will listen when I talk of my child,

You can share with me my precious memories,

You can even cry with me for a while,

And please don't hesitate to say her name,

Because it is something I long to hear everyday,

Friend please realize that I can never be the same,

But if you stand by me, you may like the new person I become someday.

Judi Walker(In Memory of Shane)Copyright 1998

The burning question

The question on everyone's mind I know...how are we doing? Well, I've always been very honest on this blog, even if I was writing something that someone might not like or might show a side of me I didn't want to show, I'd write it anyway. I figure if someone doesn't like what I have to write about my life then they can choose not to read it, which is fine.

So here goes...this week has been really hard. When Zoe first died, we were thrust into making the necessary arrangements, we had family and friends visiting from all parts of the country, food being brought over, and so on. After the service, slowly, people started to return to their homes and their lives, but we still had a few lingerers to help Richard and I get through our days with Avery and Lily. While Richard has not yet gone back to work, our schedule is kind of finding it's way to our new "normal" and it is awful. You see, I have always been a bit of an overachiever...so when infertility struck we met the challenge head on and what do you know...triplets! Then we met that high-risk, high order multiple pregnancy challenge head on...ate all the right stuff, gained all the right weight, went to all the right OB and Perinatal appts, read all the right books, etc. Then my body decided - no more! And out they came at 25 weeks. Most of you know the rest from this point having read my blog from the beginning. (If anyone ever wants to start back at the very beginning you can go to our original Caring Bridge site ) The NICU experience and experience of having three very critically ill little girls was frightening but again...we faced that challenge and settled into that life of living our days (and sometimes nights) at the hospital for many months.

When Avery and Lily came home they did not come home as "normal" babies - they had apnea monitors, feeding tubes, and pretty serious feeding issues. Richard and I jumped right in to our new roles as nurses/therapists/parents...and I for one prided myself on being able to get an NG tube in my daughter's nose and down to her stomach in less than 10 seconds with minimal crying. My new identity was forming...I couldn't be the superwoman pregnant lady I wanted to be...so now I would be the superwoman triplet mom of special needs girls. There have been many, many struggles along the way but as I look back over the last fourteen months I've realized that I truly have put my all into my girls...and Richard has been there every step of the way. We vowed that they would have the best therapies, the best doctors, the best caregivers (a.k.a. grandparents) and if new issues arose we would face those head on with the best of the best we could find for them.

This continued when Zoe came home. There was the relief of my guilt I often had about not being able to visit her every day as Avery and Lily needed me at home with them and taking them to the hospital an hour away every day just wasn't an option for us. With Zoe home we had home nursing care for her but that didn't mean we were hands off...quite the opposite as we wanted to make sure that we knew every detail of taking care of her and that she felt she was at home with her family and not just in a nursing care facility. I continued to pride myself on my ability to manage her home care between the round-the-clock meds, breathing treatments, and therapies...the ordering and stocking of appropriate medical supplies & meds, scheduling of follow-up appointments and assessments, Speech school, feeding, and physical therapy "homework"and of course throwing in the more important mommy-daughter time; all the while making sure Avery and Lily got their fair share of "mommy-time" as well. The dishes might not get cleaned every day and the laundry might pile up...but Zoe had what she needed and she was happy. My schedule was set often at least a month to a month and half out between the appointments and therapies, I liked it this way. Richard and I didn't sleep much, but that wasn't important.

I made sure that Zoe was always where Avery and Lily were...she didn't eat by mouth but she was in her highchair just like them at mealtimes; she couldn't sit up or roll over but she was in the playroom just like them. Zoe was not going to feel like an outsider, she was an important and integral part of this family. Richard and I often feared that Avery and Lily would grow up and be closer with eachother than with Zoe. From very early on in the hospital they were co-bedded but Zoe could not be due to her critical condition. At home Avery and Lily, were and have always been together, when Zoe came home we made it clear that they were ALL sisters, they knew eachother, and Zoe was no different, despite her many medical conditions.

Now, the empty spaces on my calendar just remind me of how empty my heart is. Avery and Lily are both doing so well developmentally, they are even on par with many of their chronological peers...and yet I mourn the fact that the therapists will stop coming soon. My identity is in limbo...am I still a mom of triplets? Because that was who I was! I used to mourn not having a "normal" pregnancy or "normal" babies, now we've got two "normal" toddlers but that doesn't change the fact that I want Zoe back. I don't want to get more sleep because I no longer have to do midnight meds and breathing treatments. I don't want to have more free time to go on walks because I no longer have to deal with the logistics of packing three babies plus medical equipment to go anywhere. I don't want to be able to go out to dinner because I no longer worry if the grandparents are comfortable taking care of Zoe on their own in our absence. I WANT ZOE!!!!

I feel robbed, I feel completely empty, I feel like something evil just swooped in and stole her from us. I look at her pictures that were taken just two weeks prior to her death and I think back through each of those days...going back and back and back as far as my memory can take me and I wonder...what did I miss? What didn't I ask a doctor to do or test for that I should have? Did I wait too long to take her to the hospital because I was too confident in my ability to care for her at home and had such fear of her getting more sick by being exposed to the outside world? Did I talk to her enough in those last 24 hours we had with her? What didn't I say to her that I should have before she was sedated and then gone? Did I spend enough one-on-one time with her, did she know how deeply I loved her? Should I have not taken her for that 1 yr well baby check up so she wouldn't have gotten that first cold? What, oh, what could I have changed so that I could still hold her in my arms tonight?

I told her in those final moments that I loved her and that she had fought a good fight, but it was okay to let go. Those final moments before she was intubated, I remember she was trying to sleep, despite the annoyance that is Bi-PAP, she was playing with my hair and then holding my hand and every so often she was squeezing...it wasn't a squeeze as if to say..."Mom, I need you. I'm in pain. Help me." It was more of what a Mother does for a child to reassure her...her squeeze said to me "It's okay, I'm okay. Don't worry."

But I'm not okay, I'm not okay at all. I miss her so much my entire body aches. I can't think straight. I try to think back to the times before she was sick where I held her or gave her a bath or picked her up...I try to remember some moment of physical contact and I try so hard to feel what she felt like to hold...but I can't remember, my body can't feel that feeling. I try to hold Avery and Lily sometimes in the hopes that it will remind me what it felt like to hold Zoe, but they are their own people, unique and beautiful in their own ways. They are not Zoe, nor can I expect them to be. I have some of her clothes in Ziploc bags to hold her scent...but the scent isn't truly hers. The scent is medicinal and hospital-like...it isn't her fresh out of the bath sweet baby smell. I remember holding her for the very last time once she'd passed, I stoked her hair, traced the curve of her nose, the roundness of her cheeks. I looked at every finger and toe, all trying to burn not only the image but the sensation of what it felt like to touch her into my brain, into my everlasting memory. But I can't remember. The only thing that does feel like her is the single lock of hair I have of hers...I can get this sensation of her hair between my fingers and I try to transmit that to what it felt like to run my fingers through her thick curls. Everything seems just out of reach.

This journey of grief if unbearable at times and nighttime is the hardest. I'll sit in the rocker, giving Lily or Avery their last bottle as they drift off to sleep and the still, quiet of the night overtakes me and I just crumble. This pain is so big, so all encompasing and yet we still have to get out of bed every morning to start the day anew with Avery and Lily. They get us through the days, but the nights...the nights are the worst. I pray so hard to God and to Zoe, I beg her to come visit me in my dreams...I have yet to have a dream of her where I can be with her again. Instead my dreams are filled with fragmented strange dreams that have nothing to do with her.

And of course I have a new kind of guilt. Like the fact that every achievement Avery and Lily make is coupled with sadness that Zoe isn't here to share in it. Is that fair to Avery and Lily that at this moment I am not fully enjoying their milestones? Don't get me wrong, they do bring smiles to my face and giggles to my belly all day long...but the thought of Zoe is always right there. I know I said in my last post to live your best Zoe life and I am going to practice what I preach...but right now, right this instant, I am so sad and so empty.

Zoe's Memorial Service

Following is the text from Zoe's memorial service. As odd as it may sound, I wish we had a videotape of the service, the flowers were gorgeous, everyone wore wonderful cheerful colors, and Jason delivered a spectacular sermon in honor of our sweet baby girl. I have not figured out how to put music on my blog...as soon as I do I'll add the songs as well.

WELCOME

Thank you so much for being here. My name is Jason. Richard and Keira have asked that I and other friends and family speak on their behalf – to lead today’s remembrance. Richard and I have been each other’s closest friend for about 21 years. I met Keira about 13 years ago and fell in love with her spirit almost as fast as Richard did. Their families are here. From all over. And they would like for me to extend their deepest gratitude to you all for being here – to honor; to appreciate and to understand; and to celebrate the life of their little Warrior Princess – Zoe Rose Sorrells.

We’re not here to be afraid to talk to about Zoe. We are here with a purpose. To congregate so that we as a family can fill our hearts and minds with sweet thoughts, her story of survival and inspiration; and those funny little idiosyncrasies about Zoe, her life and the way she touched ours.

And while sadness overwhelms us, Zoe’s family wants us to find the joy. Pain does not need a voice at a time like this. But joy does. We are going to focus on the joy – look inside yourself – ask yourself to feel joy – it’s hard – but we are here – together – sitting shoulder to shoulder – side by side – holding hands – arms around one another – thinking about Zoe and each other - together – much stronger together than apart - to fill this room and the hearts of us all with an everlasting feeling of joy about Zoe and her amazing, unfettered pursuit of life and love and laughter.

SONG (Amazing Grace rendition by Chris Tomlin)

Zoe was the Big Sister when she and Lily and Avery were born – technically she was the last born, which made her the younger or little sister, but Zoe had the weight – she was the biggest at 1 lb 10 ozs. Richard and Keira knew all along that she was the biggest because of all the ultrasounds Keira had along the way – so even before she was born Zoe was given the type of responsibility that came along with being the biggest. Knowing Zoe and her zest for all things, I like to think she was sort of the director of birthing services inside the womb – she took charge of the birthing order. Was there. Letting her smaller sisters go before her, an eye on their safety – probably with an encouraging word to watch their heads as they exited – mind your feet on the way out. To make sure they got out safely.

All the girls had a tough introduction to life – Zoe’s became the most difficult.

As adults we have to learn how to rise to those challenges, which ensnare us in the fabric of our lives. We learn what it means to use our will to overcome. But it’s something that we learn over time – slowly, painfully. It’s something, however, that Zoe was able to do from the minute – she was born.

Zoe was talked about a lot – talked about by doctors, by nurses, by specialists, by practitioners of all kinds. And they talked and talked and talked about her – standing over her bed in the NICU, outside in the waiting room – statistics, lab reports, charts – chances of this and that. Richard and Keira were told on numerous occasions Zoe will not survive this night. Standing there – stripped of all power – helpless parents – unable to do anything but turn their eyes and hearts to the two pound baby lying in the incubator – ask her to do what they – in their 30 plus years of life experience – never had to do. Zoe didn’t care about all that doctor talk. Like even the tiniest of diamonds, her eyes sparkled – and with a greater unspoken understanding, Zoe pressed on. See, Zoe was listening to a different kind of talk. Talk about love – about God – about playing with her sisters. Watching football with Dad. Singing songs with grandparents. Looking at pictures with mom. Learning words. Hearing the about the world. Secret promises of chocolate cake.

Some days so sick – they asked Richard and Keira to not even talk – that the smallest disturbance would cause stress – in those moments, Zoe would just bear down and survive. Such wonderful survival.

With the weight of the world on her – all the hopes and prayers – to just hang on – and then the sun would rise again – and so would Zoe – still there – unlike any fighter you’ve ever seen – like a glorious tree that grows out of a rock – and finds it’s way through darkness into the light – Zoe overcame.

She didn’t like all those tubes, but figured it out and smiled through it. Actually smiled and laughed and kicked her legs and waved her arms like … What tubes? We all would be somewhat concerned about the tubes and electrical equipment … but not Zoe.

When she pushed herself to improve and then did – guess who was talking again – but this time those doctors were not analyzing statistics or charts – they were not referring to text or publications – instead, when they saw Zoe’s miraculous feats of survival again and again they would say such scholarly medical things such as, Holy cow or wow.

After being born almost fifteen weeks early and after almost ten months in the hospital, Zoe went home. She became the success story for all the other babies around the country who hoped to followed in her footsteps. She became the one doctors told their patients’ families about. The one they could be. She was the baby all other babies strived to become. Little warrior princess Zoe Rose.

She was able to live beyond those challenges. Her hospital bed became her playground and her home her oasis.

PSALM 121
I lift up my eyes to the hills
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD,
The maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip
He who watches over you will not slumber;
Indeed, he who watches over Israel
Will neither slumber nor sleep.
The LORD watches over you
The LORD is your shade at your right hand;
The sun will not harm you by day,
Nor the moon by night.
The LORD will keep you from all harm
He will watch over your life;
The LORD will watch over your coming and going
Both now and forevermore.

Richard and Keira and their family want you to know that Zoe had such wonderful interactions with everyone who took a minute just to lean over her crib or stop by and lay down on the floor with her to play.

She had such pride in the strides that she made to each level of her development – she got such a kick of sharing those moments of connection with you. Whether it was playing with Keira’s hair or holding Richards fingers – listening to her Daddy talk about the splendors of life or Keira teaching her words and pictures.

She loved her Namo’s long dangly earrings – so much so and with such great enthusiasm and joy and laughter – that anyone who wanted immediate approval from Zoe would put on a pair just to ensure their chance to see her glowing smile, including Zoe’s own doctor who after several disappointing months of no smiles decided to throw caution and hospital dress-code to the wind and put some wildly sparkly dangly things just to get that smile she had heard so much about.

Zoe loved to play but she also loved to watch her sister’s play. She’d turn her shoulders and look up and around to Lily or Avery sitting only a foot or two away – and she’d reached out – quickly at first and then ever so politely – push her hand forward – just to let you know she was in the game – she could take that doll if she wanted to – then she’d pull her hand back and kick her legs and laugh through her soft little vocal cords just pleased as pie over her little game – she had such wonderful interaction – to see her learning – see how she loved to be part of it all – at home on the floor with mom and dad just like her sisters.

Because she overcame such overwhelming odds, you felt like she had an innate ability to read you – to look IN-TO-YOU – and you so desperately wanted her to think you were alright – that you were one of the good ones – which she graciously did think with everybody.

Even the man who delivered oxygen to the house for Zoe every two weeks or so sat in the driveway and cried when he learned about Zoe – bc of the way she touched his life.

POEMS - The first poem was written by our 13 year old niece Laura, both poems were read by my sister Naomi

Zoe,
Your smile shines so big,
Brighter than the sun.
Your eyes are so full of wonder,
The world could see with one.
Your heart is so full of strength,
Sending love ton after ton.
You could hold the world up with your tiny body,
All the while having fun.
You will always LIVE these things for me.
Cuz Laura

Peace my heart...

Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.Let it not be a death but completeness.Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way. ~Rabindranath Tagore


SONG (Down to the River to Pray by Allison Krauss)

POEM written by Richard and I and read by our dear friend "Red"

OUR SWEET ZOE ROSE

On December 20, 2006 three splendid beings entered our world
Mommy and Daddy were blessed with Avery Ruth, Lily Anne, and Sweet Zoe Rose
With each passing day hurdles were overcome and milestones achieved
All things most healers thought were impossible

Our Sweet Zoe Rose encountered countless nurses, specialists and therapists
Within minutes these caregivers came to see what Mommy and Daddy learned with their first glance
Her presence is awe inspiring, her beauty timeless and transcendent
Miss Zoe Rose captures your heart in minutes and never lets go

In spite of the many immediate and ongoing challenges that faced this wondrous little girl
These were just minor inconveniences to her greater good and faultless outlook on life
Every minute, every second of each day was cherished and greeted with a beaming smile
Her teachings made all those she captivated feel deeper and love stronger

You never let anything hold you back and now all the devices, connections, tubing, and alarms are forever gone, never to return
You are running free, playing at peace, climbing mountaintops and sailing the seas
Carry us with you in your travels as we hold you deep in our hearts

So in this time of our greatest despair and heartache we will…
Awake from our slumber, lift our beautifully curled eyelashes and use our angelic almond eyes to look our challenges head on with breathtaking resolve
We will stand tall and laugh with each hurdle overcome and milestone achieved in honor of you… our sweet Zoe Rose

Jump up on Papa and ride high atop his sturdy shoulders
Sit in Norm’s lap and listen to his stories
Go with Lila to learn all things beautiful
Take Carl’s secure hand and touch all that is lovely
Walk with Thelma through the colorful, aromatic rose gardens
Bake cookies with Emmy and sing songs
Discover the world and paint masterpieces with Karl
Stay close to your great grandparents and look down upon us eternally

You will forever be with Mommy, Daddy, Avery & Lily
Each of our hearts overwhelmed by your presence and full of joy
It is with all of our love we say to you…
You are dearly missed, completely adored and tearfully honored today and forevermore
Our Sweet Zoe Rose

MOMENT OF SILENT PRAYER

OPEN THE FLOOR TO ANYONE WHO WISHES TO RECALL A FAVORITE MEMORY OF ZOE. Zoe's primary nurse at Northside, Susan, got up and spoke beautifully about our baby girl

SERMON ENDING

It’s not just our memory of her that will be with us – Zoe will be with us – she is with us .
These emotions, these tears are produced for her; They are the tangible product of our feelings for her
To feel them on our faces, on our checks – is to feel her
To feel the muscles in our sides when we laugh about her silliness and joy is to feel her
And there are of course her wonderful and brave sisters who have also survived such incredible odds. Lily and Avery.
And when you see Lily and Avery – you cannot help but to see Zoe
to see them run – you will see her run
Hear them laugh – they’ll laugh for her too
Although she had a smile not duplicated anywhere … it is fortunately in part on the faces of her sisters.
Zoe was a cherub in life, she’s clearly an angel now.
And as an angel, she will always be right where you need her.

SONG (In My Daughter’s Eyes by Martina McBride)