Today has been one month since Katherine left us. I can’t not cry as I write this. I cry so easily now…
Katherine’s Last Day:
One month ago tonight, near 7 PM, Katherine’s breathing became labored again, and we’d assumed that she needed some morphine. Her cannabis oils were helping with 100% of the pain, but her morphine was added to assist with breathing. I called the nurse over and said, “I think she needs some morphine.” The nurse looked over the couch, and back at me, and back to Katie, and went stone faced, her eyes knowing… her words solemn. She said, “I just gave her morphine at 6:30 PM.” She knew… She walked over to Katherine, listened to her heart, and told all of us in the room, “It’s time… She will be going soon.” We went from crying, to screaming, to begging, to praying, all in a matter of seconds. I didn’t want to believe it, and I said so out loud many, many times. We loved, and hugged, and talked to her. We told her stories, so intently, so rapidly, as if we only had so much time, and we wanted her to take them with her, and this was our last chance. I don’t’ know if she heard us, I don’t think she did, but if you could bottle up all of that intent and attention to detail in that one room, and with those wishes and prayers, and they would mean something, they just may have.
Katie continued to fight for that next 30 minutes. She went back and forth between weak heart rates, and strong heart rates. Her body still. She looked at peace. I went to give her some liquids, and she bit down on the sponge. So hard that I jumped. I thought it was a sign… it was. Her organs, and her body, just did not want to give up. Giving up is unnatural for our bodies it seems, they fought so hard. No food for days, no fuel, yet they fought to keep her going, and with us. So naturally.
At 7:32 PM Katherine took three very hard breaths. Breaths so deep, that I had actually believed she was going to speak to me, and say something like, “Mom, you’re smothering me… stop!”, which is something she would joke about and say to her sisters, and I. I just stared at her, and looked around the room at everyone there. I stared back at her, than at them again. I kept saying, “No. I’m not ready. You’re not ready. Go baby. It’s ok. Do not suffer anymore, No, don’t go, not yet. Please don’t go. We need more time. Be at peace Katie. Mommy and daddy will be ok. We will miss you. We are so, so sorry. We’re just so sorry.” I had my arms under her neck, holding her, my hands on her, everyone’s hands were on her, as if that was going to save her. The nurse walked up to her at 7:34 PM, she listened to her heart again, and she said she was gone. My baby was gone. Just gone. It was so unnatural.
As family members were walking up to our home, to try and get there before Katie had passed, they knew. They heard the sobbing, and crying from everyone in the house all the way down the street. Our neighbors were so kind, and tried their best not to intrude, as they said little prayers and kinds words. We just went numb. The whole house. We were relieved. We were torn apart. We were heartbroken, and out of our skulls, all at one time. It was like floating above everyone in the room, and watching it from a different angle. The emptiness. 12 months of hell, and she was at peace, and our lives just tumbled down the rabbit hole. I didn’t feel like I was inside my own self. I can’t even describe what I was feeling, yet it wasn’t painful, just surreal.
Something that I’ve realized in the past several weeks is that Katie has made a huge difference in those around her, in the short 7 years of her life on this rock. I’m still trying to determine the reason. There are so many obvious black and white explanations, however, the gray area, which is my usual go to conscientious choice is what I’m aiming for. Right now I’ve come up with the following:
1: To teach momma how to blow the best milk bubbles
2: To teach mommy that she deserves a 2nd chance, no matter how many times she’s made mistakes as a mom
3: To show her sisters how a pro paints
4: To show the world that you can still love, while suffering a terminal illness
5: To teach cannabinoid opponents that they are wrong
6: To teach cannabinoid advocates that this is worth fighting for
7: To teach daddy just how much a person can love him, with no guilt, regardless of how much he thinks he doesn’t deserve it
8: To teach her doctors, teachers, friends, and family (cousins), patience during the most critical of circumstances
9: To teach us all that saying, “see next time”, and “loves and kisses” is so important, no matter how hard it is to get up and say it, or do it
If you have any ideas of what Katherine’s legacy is, please feel free to share them with us…