October 8, 2009

Planning a funeral for a child that is still alive is very bizarre. She is still here, though. I planned it, because I sustain her life. Once she is born her heart is too weak to do it for her. When she gets here I want to relish in her every breath without having to worry about planning a funeral.
I just do not want people to think that she has already passed...

I know there have been questions as to why we decided to travel the path we are going down. So, I am going to put it in a scenario; different situation but same instincts. As a parent, a mother rather, it is my first instinct to protect my children. If, Harrison were sick and I mean really sick; diagnosed with cancer and it had spread into a stage four; and we had tried everything to beat the cancer but the chemotherapy, radiation, bone marrow transplants, and stem cell transplants were not working, the cancer had continued to grow. Would we ask the nurse to give him a bolus of potassium to end his life just because he is terminal? Absolutely not, we would love him, cherish him, and do everything in our powers to protect the time he had left with us and pray like hell. Adalynne is no different, just because her life has only been inside of me doesn't discount the fact that she is still my little girl; our little girl. She was conceived out of love, wanted, celebrated. Her life matters to me and it matters to my husband, Harrison, Houston, and even our Jack Russel Chloe. Adalynne has a terminal diagnosis and it sucks, but she is still here. I live everyday and relish her movement while I sustain her life. I used to have this "feature" on our computer that counted down the days until my due date. Since learning of her terminal diagnosis, knowing I sustain her precious life, I don't look at it anymore. I don't want to know how far along I am in her pregnancy. It is almost like a count down of how much time we have with her. Am I in denial? No, but I know her due date is February 7, 2010. And when that day comes she will not leave the hospital. That is why living and relishing in her every movement is so vital to me getting through this journey. I love my little girl so much. She has been to Playa del Carmen, graduated college with her mommy, passed state boards, coached two soccer teams, helped a family in need in Guatemala, witnessed the union of six amazing people, been to every Titan's home game, and brought true happiness to me and even broke a few hearts. She likes going to the movies, she turns into an acrobat; flipping this way and that. She does not like it if I sit with my knees tucked up, it makes her move like crazy, and as soon as I put my knees down she stops moving. It is her own little way of letting me know she is perturbed with her mommy's current position. She does not like getting ultrasounds. When the doctors were trying to see what her face looked like she would not put her hands down, and then she would put them down for a second whenever they were focusing on another part of her body; but, as soon as they went back up to her face she would hide it. She could be twirling and spinning in my tummy like a manic, but as soon as someone, other than me, puts their hand on my belly to feel her she stops.

I planned her funeral the other day, and it was almost like planning the most important celebration of my life. I know she will never see the outside of a hospital alive. She will never feel the crisp air of fall on her face the smell of a campfire, or the ocean breeze making her dress flow in the wind, or smell wet asphalt after it rains, or the smell of fresh cut grass. I know we will not have the nail biting experience of transferring her from the hospital to home going 10 miles per hour, with comments from daddy like, "Don't they know we have a newborn in our car, why are they driving so close to our car?" She will never go to prom, her dad will not walk her down the isle on her wedding day. But, and this is a huge but, she will NEVER experience sadness or loss. All she will experience is the love and the warmth of those who love her. When she comes into this world and when she leaves she will be surrounded by a huge family that love their little Miss Adalynne Dior Vinett. Although it is her heart that is not strong enough to support her life, she will NEVER experience a broken heart. I find great comfort and strength in knowing my little girl gets to bypass the heartaches of life and go straight to eternal pure happiness.

Even so, I want her life to be validated. I know she does not care about her funeral. She will already be gone. Her time here on earth does not make her or her life any less important, or the fact that she should be celebrated. The procession from West End to Franklin with a white hearse, two white limos, the dozens of white roses and white Calla lilies, everyone in white or pink, the doves being released (three representing the Father, the Son, and The Holy Spirit circling above her grave site and then the fourth one representing Adalynne's spirit and then they all fly away), the bagpipes being played at the dove release, the 144 pink and white balloons released into the air, and the party afterwards at our favorite restaurant will all represent, validate, and celebrate this little girl's life. Extravagant a little over the top? Not for a little girl who has brought so many people together and touched so many lives. Planning it was like a cleansing, something that had to get done and it felt great once it was planned; because that means that from that day forward we can focus on her every movement until she leaves us.

Adalynne was painted as a pumpkin last night. I told you her dad was an amazing artist.