It has been 23 years since Isabella both entered and exited this world. Straight from the warmth and comfort of her Mom directly to the hands of God. That is what I believe. That belief is in large part how my wife and I survived. I don’t ask you to believe the same but the Christian in me hopes you do or that you find a way to.
Five months after Isabella passed, my father would do the same after a 15-month battle with leukemia. Eight months after my Dad passed, my wife, Crea, would be diagnosed with cancer while pregnant with our son. That is a lot to handle in less than a two-year time span.
The events changed me. How could they not? My Dad was my best friend. I miss him all the time. Seeing my other best friend, Crea, fight for her life while carrying our child was brutal. That being said, I would say I recovered from these two events. Isabella is another story though and, as I have shared, I have come to accept two things. One is that I will never be completely okay. The second is that it is okay not to be okay. Time has, most definitely, made me stronger but I will never be 100% because Isabella took a piece of me with her to Heaven. I will only be whole once my time here is done and I reunite with her.
I always feel melodramatic continuing to write about an event that happened 23 years ago. I am sure a large part of the population would just tell me to move on. To that group, I would say it is possible to move on yet remain a bit broken. I have accomplished so many things because of Isabella so it would be difficult to argue that I haven’t moved on. I met so many people because of her, raised $600,000 for charity because of her and I helped thousands of people by sharing this story. In a world where so many people internalize their feelings, I head the polar opposite direction hoping my words might connect with someone who needs to hear them.
Blessings Come From the Worst of Times.
Isabella taught me that. I believe it with all that I am.
That doesn’t mean flashbacks to the worst of times don’t creep in from time to time. It is how I know I am broken. It is okay. I can be just fine one second and the next be taken back to a hospital room where nurses couldn’t find a heartbeat on my 4th wedding anniversary.
I was actually thinking this would be the year I get through July and Isabella’s Day (August 1st) without a breakdown. I have been so busy getting things ready for my kids to head off to college and have done a good job focusing on Thalia, one of the biggest blessings coming from the loss of Isabella.
But last night, I was watching Ordinary Angels on Netflix. I had seen this movie with my wife when it had been in the theaters. It is based on a true story and it is a feel-good movie……right up my alley. I was watching a scene where Alan Ritchson, playing Ed Schmitt, is coming to the realization he cannot save his daughter. He is stuck in this horrible storm that is preventing them from getting to a hospital where a liver transplant awaits. This is nothing like my story, but the scene took me back to that hospital room. The sadness and desperation this father displayed was exactly how my wife and I felt. Sadness and helplessness so intense I could never give the words to do it justice. It was our anniversary. We were two days from Isabella’s due date.
How could this be reality.
Where is that heartbeat.
This has to be some type of horrible dream.
I am going to wake up soon.
All these thoughts flashed in an instant but, unfortunately, it was very real. Isabella had moved on and just past midnight on August 1, 2003, my wife delivered Isabella straight to God.
The other part of this scene that hit me last night was a feeling that lies dormant but surfaces from time to time. A feeling that I failed Isabella. She needed help……help that I did not provide. Should I have known something was wrong and that she was struggling to breathe? Of course there is no way I could have known but that reality does not prevent this feeling I have. A feeling that I failed my daughter.
So, here we are 23 years later. Part of me is so broken. That part might be smiling one second and lost in despair the next. But I move forward. I focus on the blessings. There are so many of those and in 13 days I will hand deliver one of those blessings to LSU where I know amazing things await.
Be well my friends. If you find yourself in a dark place, talk about it. Let people know how you are feeling. People care. People are good. People will step up for you. I promise there are blessings around the corner you might not be able to see from where you sit. Just keep moving. You will find them.
If you made it this far and it is August 1st, I always have a favor. Raise a glass to help me remember my little girl. If you don’t know me, just raise a glass to someone that is part of your story. Cheers to them as well.
Christopher
