Today has been a day of remembrance of our sweet Karleigh. It was three years ago today that she passed away. We had a good day remembering her beautiful smile, curly hair, and sweet personality. She brought us so much joy and taught us more in her 2 1/2 years than we ever thought possible. I am a firm believer that blessings come in mysterious ways. For three years now, we have thought that we didn't have any videos of her - not one. It has been an extremely hard thing to swallow because I wanted so badly to see her smile in action - not just on a picture.
Last night, Chris and I watched a little video slide show of our kids that my little sister, Joy, put together for us for Christmas. Afterwards, Chris made a comment about how we needed to get our old videos copied onto disks. Then I commented back about how it sure would be nice to have some of Karleigh. He then said that he thought that we might have some. I was in total shock, and knew I would not be able to sleep until I found out. So, needless to say, I found all of the old tapes and found a lot of different clips of Karleigh on them! All the way from her first bath in the hospital, to the Christmas before she passed away - 2004. I was so excited that I had to call my mom and dad at 11:30 PM and tell her the good news. I then stayed up until 2:30 to go through all of the tapes - scouring them for even brief moments of Karleigh!
My mom said that she had just gotten done saying her nightly prayers and had asked that Chris and I be comforted on this day. Then she got the call from me saying that I had found the tapes! Talk about an answer to your prayers! These were the best present I could have and have comforted me so much through this day. We honestly did not think that we had ANY videos of Karleigh. Why it took us three years to figure it out, only Heavenly Father knows. But I firmly believe that He knows what we need WHEN we need it. And He knew that I needed these tapes at this time. I think I probably have an even greater appreciation for them now than I would have a while ago. So tonight for Family Night, we sat on the couch and went through her videos as a family.
What a joy it was to see her smiling face, to hear her voice and to look into her shining eyes again. What an amazing girl she is. She went through so much, yet was so happy despite sickness and pain. I look up to this sweet spirit and can't wait until I am reunited with her again. She helped me grow in more ways than I will ever be able to express. She helped me have a better perspective on life and have a better appreciation for all I have. I look at her struggling to just hold her head up. How blessed we/I am that I have been blessed with a body that functions properly. How blessed I am to know that she will have a perfect body someday. How blessed I am to have been given the wonderful opportunity to be her mother and to care for such a perfect Daughter of God for a brief time.
I miss her terribly, but have been comforted in many ways throughout this week. From pictures of the flowers coming up in front of her headstone, to supportive calls from my mom, siblings, friends, and beautiful heart-felt gifts from dear friends. I thank everyone for their continued support in helping us deal with the pain that sometimes feels almost unbearable. You all make it so I can get through these times and I am eternally grateful for each of you. I hope someday I can return the kindness that you all have shown to me. I love all of you.
I love you, Karleigh and pray that I will live my life in such a way that we will be together forever.
This is a story that describes Chris and my feelings about our time with Karleigh and dealing with her disabilities. In reality, her disabilities were what gave her the ability to touch so many lives - especially ours. This story can also be related to many things in our life, regardless if we have a child with special needs.
Welcome to Holland
by
Emily Perl Kingsley
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this…
When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip – to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”
“Holland?!?” you say. “What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.”
But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around… and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills… and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy… and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away… because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss.
But… if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things… about Holland.
by
Emily Perl Kingsley
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this…
When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip – to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”
“Holland?!?” you say. “What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.”
But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around… and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills… and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy… and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away… because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss.
But… if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things… about Holland.
