Avocados: Take Two

So today I decided to try our Avocado Baby Led Weaning style.  For those not familiar...Baby Led Weaning is where you let your child feed themselves right from the get-go...no purees, no mashing, no blenders, food processors or fancy baby food makers necessary.  You make sure that food is a suitable size and watch them have fun with it.  (You can read more about Baby Led Weaning HERE).

I have to admit that this was much for fun than mommy shoving mashed avocados in Nicolette's mouth and as you can see from the pictures below she liked this a lot better too!  :)  It was so much fun to watch her figure it out!

"That girl"...

Today I was "that girl"... the girl I hated (okay so hate is a strong word)...the one who happily strutted into the waiting room at REACH with her adorable little baby in the stroller. "Why is she here?  She already has a baby...isn't one enough?"

Yup, Nicolette and I took a little visit to the REACH office so that I could introduce this sweet thing to the man who helped make her a possibility!  She got to meet the one and only Dr. Katz!  It was really precious to see him with her...he said that she looks like a beautiful little porcelain doll (we hear that a lot...and I happen to agree).  I, of course, made him hold her so that I could take pictures and he was so sweet with her...he rocked her a little bit and said, "I could just keep you!"  He then assured me that he wouldn't :)  He held in front of the fish tank in his office and showed her the fishies swimming around which thoroughly captivated her.

(She was mid-nap when we got there so no smiles from Nicolette during our visit but she didn't cry or fuss a bit...just quietly sat, taking it all in).

Now while I was happy to be "that girl"....I was also incredibly mindful (and almost felt guilty) when I looked at the faces in the waiting room, the woman getting on and off the elevator...the couple waiting in the nurse's office where you talk about finances, the woman waiting behind me to check out.  I remember being that face, that person, sitting there, looking at the woman with the baby wondering if this day would ever come for me....

Thank you Jesus for blessing Dr. Katz with this talent and skill.  What a gift and blessing to be able to help so many people achieve their dream of having a family!

Project Avocado

Today was THE day!  We finally started little Nicolette on solids...Avocado to be more precise (if you can really call that a "solid").  Mommy and Nicolette went on a search for the perfect ripe, organic avocado yesterday (which is more difficult than I thought...most avocados in the store are either mush or super firm).  Today after church we decided to give it a whirl.  I was told to breastfeed her first and then try the "solids" and to pick a time where she's in a relatively good mood...so that's what we did...

Ready for avocados!

Maybe not...

Let me try this again...

I need to think about it a little

mmmmmm....

I don't think I like it...

Maybe it's not so bad. 

How did I get avocados in my nose?

They're not too bad...not great, but not bad...

I went basic with the recipe.  Just mashed up some Avocados with breastmilk but this website has some interesting recipes to try...maybe we'll give some a whirl this week!

Happy 6 Month Birthversary Baby!

Today is Nicolette's 6 Month Birthversary!  At 9:20pm, 6 months ago this beautiful little being escaped from my body :)

I am finding that taking pictures of her is getting more and more difficult...Nicolette is almost NEVER still.  You can see from our photo shoot with Ellie the Elephant that she was kind of all over the place.  Nicolette wants to see and touch EVERYTHING!  It's fun to watch her discover "new" things, but the child is doing so at the expense of her naps.  Today she took 3 naps, 1 was close to 45 minutes, 1 was a ere 10-15 minutes and the last was 30 minutes.  Most 6 month olds nap 2-4 hours a day (so I hear)...Nic looks exhausted...keeps rubbing her eyes and is so tired that she can barely sit up on her own but she will NOT stop looking at everything...is this normal???  Someone please tell me that it is a (short) phase...She went down for what I thought was the night at 7:40 pm but now at 8:20 she's up looking around everywhere with her super drowsy eyes...she just won't stop.  She's hasn't been crying or fussy today.  Just a little more cuddly than usual and when she's not playing she looks so, so, so, so sleepy.   try to rock her and cuddle and she whines to sit up and look around...what's a mama to do????

We were supposed to try avocado tonight for her first go at "solids" but she looked so tired that I didn't want to go for it just yet.  I thought it would be best to wait until she's alert and happy to try something new.

Anyway here are some highlights of our Birthversary Photo Shoot!

"Hey!  What's on my shirt???"

"I wonder if I can eat it..."

"Hey!  It comes off!!

"I CAN eat it..." 

Rubbing my eyes - "Photo shoots are exhausting."

Chewing on my thumb

Chewing on my toes...

Chewing on my fist... 

Rubbing my eyes...I'm getting sleepy

Tossing Ellie around...

"Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Happy girl!

You'll want to note that this all happened in a matter of less than 5 minutes...she really is nonstop!

Splish, Splash!

We haven't been good about taking pictures of our bathing beauty...mostly because she really was not a fan of baths.  Even after she got through the hospital scrubdown and then her first gentle sponge bath at home...she never seemed to get excited about being in the tub.  As soon as we'd lay her in her little infant sling she'd lay back and squeeze her little arms up by her head and look at me with a look of sheer terror on her face.  She didn't cry or scream, just looked terrified...so pitiful.

Then about a month ago (way past the point when she had surpassed the infant sling weight limit) we started bathing her in the infant tub without it.  She had been sitting on her own perfectly fine, but once her little booty hit the water her little arms went right up by her head and her little face turned up towards us with that same look of terror.  Now the arms up by the head and head turning made it impossible for her to balance so bathing was 100% a 2 man job.  Daddy holds and mommy washes (AS FAST AS POSSIBLE so that we can get her out in a flash).  We had tried splashing, toys, playing and it just seemed to scare her even more so this was our perfect little routine.  Mommy and daddy could get little Nicolette spic and span in less than 2 minutes!  

A couple of weeks ago daddy discovered that she was actually better if she was standing (I think I've mentioned a million times that our child has been trying to stand basically from birth...not exaggerating).  So the Italian holds Nicolette standing and mommy splashes and rubs her down and then basically showers her off.  What 5 month old takes showers?  Mine apparently.

Well something MAGICAL happened this week.  The Italian and I got N's bath all ready and he put her in her normal position,  but she didn't put her hands up by her head like she normally does...she actually started to bend her knees to sit down.  So the Italian carefully helped her sit down and it looked like her hands were going to go up by her head but instead her right hand reached out and very gently "tapped" on the water!!!  Next thing we knew she grabbed the little rubber ducky and holding on to it for dear life sat up in the bath on her own!  We've got a long ways to go before we have a water-all-over-the-floor-fun bath time but we're making progress.

The hospital required scrub down about 6 hrs after she was born)

First spongebath at home...looks fun right?)

Normally a showering position, but...

Sitting down for a change...

"Dear God, Please make sure that I do not drop this ducky" 

Squeezing the life out of the ducky, but still
sitting on her own

Can't wait to see what bath time brings tonight!  We'll need it I'm sure!  Nicolette starts "solids" today (her 6 month birthday)!!!!  She'll be dining on mashed avocado with a nice 2012 Randazzo breastmilk :)

Tootles!

Play date with Jameson

Nicolette and I LOVE our play dates and we were sooo happy to be able to spend a little quality time with her buddy Jameson and his mommy lil e!  lil e and I used to work together and she was actually supposed to handle most of my job responsibilities once I went out on maternity leave.  She and her husband had been in the process of trying to adopt a baby but up until the very end of my pregnancy she felt pretty sure that they wouldn't get "the call" until much later.  Wouldn't you know that they got that blessed call just 2 short weeks after I delivered Nicolette????  Beautiful Baby J was ready to join their family!

It's fun to have little ones so close in age and they haven't seen each other since they were about a month old (and they both slept through that play date anyway)...I just wish we were able to carve out more time to play together!  

Isn't he a handsome little fella???

They lock eyes...for a moment...

...and Nicolette is back to playing

She makes the first move...she's an aggressive one.
(mommy and daddy are going to have to keep an eye on that) 

Wait!  What's that on his head???

"Don't give up on tummy time yet, Jameson." says Nicolette 

Maybe I'll have some hair someday soon too!  

Shaken....

I read a blog entry today that shook me to my very core.  What happened to this poor family should never happen to ANYONE.  A friend of mine shared the link on Facebook and I happened to be in Nap Jail so I thought I'd click on the link and read the blog.  Big mistake...or not.  I was brought to tears  by the time I reached the second paragraph but halfway through had made a promise to myself that I hope will save my daughter's life.  Her story is tragic but she has an amazing way with words and I immediately felt as if I were in her shoes as I read her story...and it terrified me.

I never understood the need to fasten furniture to the walls.  I thought that was something that really obsessive mamas did (no offense to anyone out there...I am admittedly a super obsessive mama when it comes to many things).  We don't have a tall dresser or bookcase in Nicolette's room so I really didn't think it was necessary.  Boy was I wrong.  Please read the blog entry (below or HERE) and make sure that you check your furniture and tvs.  This accident was 100% preventable and this mama would give anything to have the power to turn back time and spend the $5 and 15 minutes to secure the furniture.

I ordered my furniture straps today along with a TV strap for the one tv we have in our house that isn't secured to the wall.  You can buy them inexpensively at online retailers such as Amazon or drugstore.com.  I will be obsessive about this...there are a million and one things I can't control, but making certain that it is not possible for my furniture to tip over and injure or kill my daughter is totally within my control and 100% my responsibility.  Think I'm crazy?  Do a little test open 1, 2 or all of the drawers of any dresser in your home and then push on the edge to see how easily it begins to teeter.  Now imagine the weight of a 20, 30 or 40lb little one hanging off the top drawer or trying to crawl in the bottom drawer.  In a mere second the entire thing could easily crash on your little one and there is nothing you could do to stop it at that moment.  I don't care if the odds are only one in a million that it will happen (and they're not it's much more common than that), someone has to be the "one" and I'll do everything I can to make sure it's not my sweet Nicolette.

I also encourage you to "Like" Meghan's Hope page on Facebook.  Meghan's mama is on a mission to make sure that other mamas are well informed about safety for infants, toddlers and kiddos.  I've learned a lot already from her page.

Hug your little ones tight and thank your lucky stars that they are safe and sound.  It can all change in a matter of minutes.

Taken from Love, Light, Laughter and Chocolate:

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Be with me. Just for today.

For once, I'm at a loss for words.  Maybe not so much at a loss, but there are so many things I want to say that I just don't know where or how to begin.  I guess it makes sense to start at the beginning.  This post is less about words and more about feeling.  It's about emotion.  It's a glimpse inside my heart, not my mind.

Eight years ago this morning, I woke to a nightmare.  One that will really never end.  My 3 year old beautiful daughter was found lifeless under her dresser.  Somehow she managed to tip it over on herself while we slept.  We did not hear it fall, for it fell onto her.  She was unable to cry.  She died in minutes while the rest of our family slept, her airway compressed by a drawer under the weight of the dresser.  Her dresser is pictured below.  When most people see it, they are flabbergasted, expecting it to have been a much larger piece. Most of you know this story already.  What you probably don't know, is what I'm going to share here.  I will thank you in advance for being with me this day in my grief.

Every year on her 'Angel Day', the anniversary of her death, I allow myself to participate in my own ritual of remembrance.  I eagerly wait for the rest of the family to go off to work and school so I can have time alone with Meggie.  It's difficult to go back to that day, yet it's important to me.  Important that I allow myself one day to grieve, to really grieve, to honor my feelings from that day to this day, to reflect on my life and how it's changed as a result of her life and of her death.  It's the one day I allow myself to really *be* with the pain, to remember the details of that day.  For in the pain of it all, were absolute angels who helped us through.

It always starts with an overpowering sense of guilt.  I am, by nature, an early riser.  That day, I wanted to sleep in.  In fact, our entire family did.  Every year on the anniversary, I wake early and get up. My heart heavy. I desperately wish I had that day, too. Had I gotten up earlier, when she first woke up, she'd still be here with us.  Instead, I told her it wasn't time to get up yet and it was still time for sleep and I went back to bed.  She was apparently playing in her room instead of sleeping as she often did before it was 'get up time'.  Add to that, the fact that if we had secured her dresser to the wall, like we had taller and heavier pieces of furniture, she would not have died.  The fact that I failed as a parent to keep my child safe (partially because of my own selfishness in wanting to sleep) and that resulted in her very preventable death is something I have to live with for the rest of my life.  I'm sure I don't need to tell you how much that hurts.  IT COULD HAVE BEEN PREVENTED! 

Then, I read some of the letter I began to her on December 28th, 2004.  It's now 397 pages long.  It is a painful reminder of what I felt during those days, weeks and months after her death.  It's also a reminder of how Meghan's Hope began and grew and of the love and support we received from so many.  I'm so glad I wrote it, for I've forgotten many of the details of those days and had I not recorded it in my letter to her, I'd likely not remember it now.  It always moves me to tears.  I'm always surprised by what I've forgotten. Yes, they are my own words, but it brings everything back. I actually need that.  There was a lot of goodness in there that came out of the pain.  The kindness of friends, family, neighbors and compete strangers were gifts that helped us endure the hell, who walked with us through the pain. My depth of my gratitude for them is difficult to convey.

I, of course, add to the letter each anniversary and periodically during the year.  With the social media tools available today, I also write about it here and on Facebook and Google+.  I vow to somehow turn the letter into a book.  I don't know when I will find the time to do it, or what exactly I will write, but it is inching ever closer.  My hope in sharing all of this, is that it will touch someone, somehow, that will be compelled to DO something about it to prevent it from happening to a child they know and to share the information with everyone they know.

My ritual then turns to time in her room.  Her dresser is still there.  It has many Meggie items on top of it. Some made by her, some given to me in memory of her.  It is now secured to the wall.  The irony kills me.  Her room is still her room in many ways but it also a room for me.  For us.  It's the place where I scrapbook and do my bead work.  Neither of which I've actually done much of the past few years, but I enjoy being in her room.  My scrapbook table is actually in the place her dresser was when it fell on her.    Artwork by Meg and her twin hang on the wall.

I stand in the doorway to her room and pause.  I close my eyes.  I allow myself to remember my husband screaming my name "Kim, oh God, KIIIIIMMMMM" and being woken from a deep sleep knowing instantly something horrible had happened from the tone of his voice.  I remember running into her room, seeing her tiny, beautiful body, pale and blue, lifeless on the floor. He had thrown the dresser off of her and placed her on the floor.  I remember my older son, then 6, literally freaking out by her head, crying and yelling "What happened to Meggie...is she OK .. mommy make her wake up, make her wake up!"  I remember doing CPR, simultaneously begging her to come back to us and yet knowing in my heart it was already too late.  I remember her twin, also just 3, kneeling at her feet, quietly saying, "Mommy, Meggie not wake up".  It was not a question.  It was a statement of spiritual fact.

I remember my husband falling down the stairs trying to get the door for what he thought were the EMT's but was actually a neighbor who was an EMT who heard the call on the police scanner.  I remember him walking into the room behind me and audibly gasping.  I remember the EMT's arriving, taking over CPR, running frantically into my room to change my clothes, (I still have the sweatshirt I last held her in.  I can't bear to part with it) running outside in bare feet to yell to ambulance which hospital they were taking her to and then flying to the car and nearly running over neighbors who were already flocking to our house to help and support us as I backed out of the driveway.

I have no idea how I drove.  I shouldn't have. I had no idea how to get to the hospital, yet I managed to get there.  It was a Saturday. All I could think was "it's been more than 6 minutes", although none of us knew how long she was under the dresser, knowing on a soul level she was gone, but hoping beyond hope that they would get her back.  Miracles happen, right?

I remember, very vividly, walking into the ER at the local community hospital.  By then, I was having chest pain. Like really serious chest pain, I was pretty sure I was having a heart attack from the stress.  My heart was breaking.  Literally.  I felt it.  It hurts.  Like hell.  I can actually still feel the visceral pain of it when I allow myself to fully go back to that day.  I felt like I'd pass out, my head was spinning, my vision was fuzzy, my legs were as heavy as cement.  Walking was such an effort and so very slow and unsteady. I have no idea how I managed to put one foot in front of the other.  I really thought I was dying myself right then.  I remember the girl at the check in desk, telling her I was here and my daughter was just brought in by ambulance.  She told me they'd be right with me and not to worry, she was sure it would be OK.  I literally almost slapped her across the face.  She's dead!  What the hell do you mean it will be f*cking OK?!

I remember the little room, the kind woman (a nurse maybe?) who sat with us.  Who brought me ginger ale and tissues, which I asked for in the hopes it would quell the nausea and keep me from passing out because it is nothing short of a miracle I did not hit the floor.  She prayed with us, because clearly, we needed it and there was little else we could do.  I remember talking to our neighbor, also an ER doctor, who was part of the team caring for her.  The look on his face said everything, but they were opting to Life Flight her to a trauma hospital.  He said it didn't look good but they were not giving up yet.  We were allowed to see her before they took her.  I was vaguely aware of the many people around her, yet all I saw was her beautiful face.  I ducked under someone's arm and kissed her, stroked her silky blonde hair and told her I loved her.  That I would see her at the next hospital.  I remember thinking she'd have loved the helicopter ride.  There were tears in the eyes of the staff tending to her.  A few posted on her guest book of the Web site later and their words were so sweet and kind.  I remember one nurse saying she promised me Meggie was well loved and deeply cared for by everyone who tended to her that morning in the ER.

One of the EMT's drove us to the next hospital.  I remember trying to sit in the car seat in the back seat, unable to process that I should remove it and sit in the regular seat or even figure out how to remove the car seat.  I just stood there and stared at it. The EMT did it for us.  He was a wonderful man.  We tried to call at least one family member to let them know what was happening so they could share with others.  I called to see how the boys were doing since we left in chaos, essentially leaving them with people they barely knew.  I was told our babysitter, who knew them well, was already with them and the entire neighborhood was in our house holding vigil.  Family was on their way to our house. It gave me some peace of mind that I needn't worry about them.

We were lead to the God-awful room.  You know the one.  Where the priest is waiting with you and your family to hear the words you don't want to hear.  It wasn't long before a very uneasy looking resident and the trauma chief, who had on a lovely Christmas tie (odd what you remember), said something to the effect of "blah, blah, blah...I'm very sorry, but Meghan had died".  They really didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, but now it was official. There was no more hope.  It was over.  My baby girl was gone forever.  I couldn't have hurt anymore than I already did.  So I bowed my head, took a deep breath, and asked to see her.  All I wanted to do at that moment was to see her. It was but a few minutes before we were allowed to see her.

Let me say, the pedi trauma nurses rock.  How they do it, I'll never know.  The priest accompanied us.  Quite frankly, I found him irritating.  I'm not sure if was just my reaction to her death or if he was really annoying.  He did not comfort me at all.  He read the 23rd Psalm.  It took every ounce of my being not to tell him to shut up.  It did NOT help.  He left. Rather, I dismissed him, thanking him, but not sure what for.

Meggie looked so peaceful.  A true sleeping beauty.  If only a kiss could really bring her back to us!  I actually wish we had a picture of her then.  She was SO beautiful and so at peace.  Her color was better thanks to an hour+ of CPR.  They asked if they could call anyone for us.  I couldn't remember phone numbers.  I couldn't even dial a phone.  They got me a chair so I could sit by the phone and they looked up numbers.  They dialed for me.  They held the phone to my ear because I was shaking so badly I couldn't even hold it.  How do you tell your parents their granddaughter is dead?  They stood behind me with their hands on my shoulders and rubbed my back while I told my parents.  I think they also talked to them since I was likely incoherent.  They called my uncle, the Deacon who baptized her, and asked him to come for me.  When he came, I sobbed into his belly.  It was the first good cry I had. He was my spiritual comfort.  Then I smiled through the tears, a comforting thought and connection coming to me.  "She's with Gram!", I said.  We knew she'd take care of her.

They asked if I'd like to hold her.  Of course, I said yes.  I'd have held her forever if I could have. They got me a rocking chair and they placed her in my arms.  They covered us both with a warm blanket. I rocked her and held her little hand.  So delicate and tiny.  So sweet.  I stared and stared and stared at her face.  It was so surreal.  How could she really be gone?  I kissed her.  Often.  I talked to her.  I cried.  But mostly, I stared at her and loved her. The nurses gave us our space but checked on us often.

The nurses asked if we'd like to make hand/foot prints for us and the boys.  They helped us paint a hand and a foot pink and purple and 'stamp' several pieces of paper with them.  They hang to this day in her brother's rooms. They made a little soft plaster heart and together we imprinted a hand and a foot.  They added a little pink bow.  It sits on our mantle now.  They placed her back on the bed.  Other family members were invited to see her and say good-bye.  Then we had a bit more time with her. After about an hour and a half, they gently encouraged us to say goodbye.  This was as much from a practical physiological stand point as it was psychological for us in need.  We were blessed to have all that time alone in the trauma room with her, with no one else in the ER that morning.  For that, I am grateful.

I left the hospital with a cardboard box that had the painted hand/foot prints, a lock of her hair and the plaster heart.  My own heart shattered into a zillion pieces.  The social worker handed me a brochure on grief.  I just stared at it in disbelief.  As if this little piece of paper was going to help at all.

I remember it was a beautiful day for December.  The sky was blue, it was in the 40's.  I glanced at the sky.  Were you up there, Meg?  I wondered where our car was as we waited for my BIL to get his car.  The EMT had driven it home for us.  I stood there in complete shock. Getting irritated at the smiles on other people's faces. It was surreal.  How was I going to tell the boys? How was I going to do this?  How could I be living this nightmare?  OMG, I have to plan a funeral.  For my daughter!  This couldn't be real. Yet, I knew it was.  So painfully real.

I had to come home and tell my boys, on the kitchen floor of a neighbors house, where they immediately clamored into my lap hoping for good news, that she had died.  The pain on their faces exponentially deepened my own pain.  How could a 3 and 6 year old comprehend the death of their sister when their parents were struggling so much?  We came home, without our Meggie.  And our lives have never, ever been the same.

I sat on the couch and stared at the Christmas tree, snuggled with her twin.  I sat.  I stared.  That's all I did.  For hours. I couldn't function.  I didn't want to function.  Family wisely left me alone.  They gathered down stairs and did their own grieving   We went into Meggie's room.  Her twin gently and methodically cleaned up all the clothes she had thrown all over the room, put her toys away.  All on his own. When he was done, he quietly said "There".  He continued to talk to her and play with her.  It was comforting to know that just maybe, he *could* still see her.  My husband turned the dresser to the wall so the drawers could not open and it couldn't tip again.

I was starting to get pissed.  When darkness fell, I went outside and swung on her favorite swing under the stars.  I wondered what they looked like from the other side.  I thought about how she always wanted to 'fly in the sky!'  I started to cry.  Sob.  Loud, uncontrollable sobs.  Finally.  I was able to release that pain, the grief, the sadness of the day.  God and the Universe got a loud what for that night, directed toward the sky.  I screamed, I cried, I threw myself on the ground in complete and utter despair and sobbed some more.  Neighborhood dogs barked like crazy at my outburst.  I didn't care.  My daughter was dead.  It was wrong.  It was unfair.  It was my fault.  It hurt.  So.  Damn. Much.

I come back to the present now, and sit on her floor.  I take out her jammies.  The ones she was wearing that day.  Cut off by the EMT's.  I lay them out on the floor.  They look so small now.  I lay next to them.  I imagine she's with me.  Can you see her?  I touch them.  I smell them.  I cry.  Because although she may be with me in spirit, she is not here physically.  I miss her.

I open the 'purple bin'.  The one that holds all the cards and little gifts we received, the trinkets left for her, the guest book from her wake.  I go through them.  Bolstered by the outpouring of love and support we received.  I go through her clothes.  Remembering what she loved about each thing.  What I loved about each thing.  I hold the little red velvet skirt with white embroidery and the black turtleneck sweater I bought for her to wear for Christmas that year.  It still has the tags, for she died before she could ever wear it.  She'd have been so pretty in it! I hold the Marie, the cat from the Aristocats, one of her favorite movies.  A Christmas gift she never saw either, but would have been SO excited to have.  I slept with one of her stuffed kitties last night.

I wrap myself in the quilt made of her clothes, I snuggle one of her stuffed kitties, I smell it, hoping to smell her again.  Of course now it's been too long, but I still try.  I look at her windows, still smeared with her finger prints, now dusty and even a wee bit moldy in spots, yet I cannot bear to clean them. I close my eyes and I quietly try to be with her.  Her memory, her spirit, her essence.  There are tears.  There are smiles.  There are more tears. I open her dresser drawers and wonder how the hell she managed to tip it over.  What was she doing?  Why was she doing it? What did she think?  What did she feel?  Was she scared?  How a zillion other things could have happened and she'd have survived, but the pure physics of the situation instead led to a tragic outcome.  I ask an unanswered, why?  Why her?  Why me?  Why this way? Why at all?  The why's get more angry and insistent.  Why, why, why, why WHY?!

That was only the beginning of a long and painful road, 8 years long today.  One I will walk for the rest of my life.  Without my daughter.  One that *I* could have prevented.

So, when people ask me why they should secure their furniture, I'd like to tell them this story.  I'd like for them to feel what it's like to live with the pain, the guilt, the hole in your heart.  Maybe if the words don't compel you to do something, perhaps raw, visceral emotion will.  I don't, of course.  Who would listen?  Besides, it takes too long and is too painful to re-live that often.  Feel free to direct them here if you think it will help motivate them to action.

Here is my rant:  What really pisses me off is knowing people who know us, who knew her, who came to her wake and funeral, who have heard her story, who have children or children who visit their home and still choose to do nothing.  The people who I ask to share the links to her Web site and Facebook page and don't.  That hurts me.  Deeply. I don't get it.  I just don't.  I'd be lying to say there are not times where I wonder WTF?  Why not their kid?  (and immediately hate myself for that thought) Why mine?  Why not try to help someone else even if you don't believe it's a risk for you or your children?  Everyone has furniture.  Nearly everyone has a TV.  Every child is at risk. And why the hell do so many people think 'it' can't happen to them?  Ignorance is not bliss!  It's stupid!  If it can happen to me, it can happen to you.  It doesn't matter who 'you' are or what 'it' is!

I'll never know all the answers.  The simply answer to why Meghan died is because her dresser was not secured.  $5 and 15 minutes would have saved her life. It's that simple. Why she died when dressers have fallen on so many other children who were luckier and were not injured is not for me to answer.  I'm glad for them that they were so fortunate.  I hate that it was my daughter and our family that were the ones who it happened to and had deadly consequences.  All I can do now is try to educate as many people as I can about these dangers so it never happens to another child again.  So no mother ever feel the pain I do.  So no one need bury their child because of something that could have easily been prevented.

No one should have to experience what I did 8 years ago today.  No one.  If everyone secured their furniture and TV's, no one would ever know the pain of this tragedy again.  Just do it.

So, I ask you.  Have you shared Meghan's story with everyone you can?  Have you secured ALL of your furniture and your TV's?  Even if your children are older, do younger children visit your home?  You must consider them, too.  Have you 'liked' the Meghan's Hope Facebook page so you can be informed of all manner of child safety information?  What about those at the homes of friends and family where your child visits, are furniture and TV's secured in their homes?  Yes? Thank you, thank you, thank you.  No?  I'm sorry, but WTF is wrong with you?  Most days, I don't judge.  Today, I do.  Today, when I'm so deep in the pain I just can't fathom why anyone wouldn't do anything they can to avoid ever knowing this horror.  I just don't get it.

Thank you for listening.  Now, "You listen to Meggie"!  (which is what she was telling me when this picture was taken just weeks before she died)