My Story to Gillian
I first shared this with Stacy. She gave me permission to share with all of you.
Her name was Gillian Rae.
She was about the same age as my granddaughter. Developmentally and medically
Gillian was a step ahead. I loved getting email from her mother Stacy. It
gave me a glimpse of what was ahead for Trisha.
Trisha and Gillian seemed to have so much in common. They had different diagnosis, but aside from that, they were both trached, and fed by tube. The girls often lead lives similar to the other. They varied in the degree, but nonetheless, if one was sick, the other wasn’t far behind in coming down with something.
I celebrated Gillian's’ accomplishments, as if I had something to do with them.
Her smile touched my heart. Her braveness inspired me, as does the braveness of my own sweet Trisha. I eagerly awaited pictures to download, on my computer, of Gillian’s’ smiling face. She wore the cutest little glasses. My favorite picture was the one with her popping bubbles. I had spoke to Gillian's’ mother by phone on occasion.
I had planned for the day that Trisha would meet Gillian, face to face. Gillian was profoundly deaf. Trisha, although a hearing child, was learning sign language. I wanted Trisha to be able to communicate with Gillian. They would have so much in common.
In my plans for the children, in the future, Trisha would be less medically fragile, and able to travel. So would Gillian. We would meet somewhere between Oklahoma and Indiana.
My son was married on the 16th of September. It was a beautiful ceremony. My computer crashed a few days before. Aside from making it impossible to print out some of the things that I had planned for the ceremony, it was a minor inconvenience. I did miss my email, but with everything going on, I hardly would have time to read anyway.
Soon he and my new daughter in law returned from the honeymoon. We took possession of there new home while they were away. As soon as they returned, we were head over heels in new wallpaper, paint, and generally just having a good time, working together. My celebration of their new life was to be interrupted.
In a single heartbreaking moment, all of my plans changed. All of Stacy's’ hopes and dreams for Gillian's’ future on earth, vanished. The next phone call I received from Stacy would chill me, and bring tears. The emptiness, the void, I felt could not compare with how Stacy must have felt. Yet she showed compassion, beyond my understanding. No words from me would come, to express how deeply moved I was.
The phone rang at my son’s house. It had been turned on that very morning.
"Is Patricia there?"
My son handed the phone to me. It is for you mom.
"Patricia?"
Yes
"This is Stacy"
Hi Stacy. That took some detective work to find me here.
"I called your house, and someone, must have been your son, gave me the
number"
How is Gillian?
"You haven’t been online have you?"
Stacy went ahead, to tell me of Gillian's passing. But not before asking
about Trisha.
I know she feared something similar had occurred to Trisha.
It was a medical mistake. Gillian's life was gone.
My heart was screaming Sue them! I never spoke the words.
Yet Stacy told me, It was a mistake. I am a RN. I have made mistakes. I am
glad none have ever cost a life, but it could have.
"It was her time."
There still are no words that explain how deeply and profoundly Gillian’s life, or her mother has affected me.
Trisha will still meet Gillian someday. Not the way I had planned. They may play now, in sweet Trisha’s dreams. They don’t need sign language. They have the language of angels.
I believe Gillian joined the array of angels that love and protect Trisha.
I took my granddaughter in my arms, and we released pink balloons into the heavens to honor Gillian.
Recently I had occasion to be concerned for Trisha’s safety. As I left Trisha's side I prayed, "Please, all the angels that watch over, be close now"
When I returned the next morning, I found a deflated pink balloon lying in the yard. Purple string still attached; no doubt it was one we had released over a month ago. How could that be? I had watched all the balloons soar into the pale blue sky. I had walked the same path many times since then and never seen a pink balloon.
Thank you Gillian, for everything.
Patricia U
1/7/01
