Reading her story...

Five and a half years ago, a former co worker lost his daughter in a back over accident, in his own driveway. She was killed by a contractor, who simply didn't see her.

She was two and a half.

And her mom witnessed it all.

Her webiste is HERE if you want the full story.

All of us at our job were deeply affected. Everyone that knew Annabelle was deeply touched by the incident. We didn't know how much at the time, but we grieved with all of our hearts.

I went to the funeral...I saw that little itty bitty casket up front. I watched her parents walk into the sanctuary. I listened to her dad (my co worker) sob his eulogy. I choked back gallons of tears and my heart broke in two. I heard the EMT's that were at the scene, standing in the back, sniffing and crying. I saw the police officers crying. Everyone in that church grieved with every ounce of their being. And I couldn't imagine for the life of me, how many drugs that mother and father must be on, to get through this.

My husband and I followed that funeral procession to her little grave. And we stood there in silence during the graveside rites. The line of cars wrapped around the cemetary. And I didn't know what to say, to anyone. So I stayed quiet.

And we went home. And I stripped my funeral clothes off, took a shower, crawled into my bed, naked and slept. For hours. I wanted it washed away.

But it never left.

And it changed us forever. Especially after having our son. We don't know the depth of losing our own child, but we know the depth of watching one that we loved, be lost. And I don't want to ever ever ever go through that again.

I've been back to her grave a few times...but today was the first time I took The Toddler with me.

We were up in that part of town, and her birthday was a week ago. So I thought I would stop by. I just needed to. She would have been eight.

She was my 'high five' buddy, and just a joy. I remember her mom giving birth to her a few days after their wedding anniversary (that The Husband and I share with them), and how happy they were. I remember the birth of her little brother, and how she loved him so. I remember seeing her just the day before she was killed. And I remember my co worker coming in and telling us the news. And I looked over in the corner, where the day before she had run to me, and high fived me with her big smile and giggle. She had just been there...she couldn't be gone. Like that.

So I pulled in and got The Toddler out...and took him to her grave. Balloons fluttered from the bouquet of flowers. They had Tweety Bird and other characters on them and said 'Happy Birthday'. My heart just ached.

To The Toddler, a cemetary is full of 'stories'. Some headstones have the open Bible/Book on them with words enscribed. Our family cemetary was full of those types, so he calls them 'stories'. I guess basically, that's what they are.

I led him to her little grave, and he asked 'who is she?' So as I knelt in front of Annabelle's grave, next to the little pond, and cried silent tears...I tried to explain who she was, but my son started reading her 'story' to me.

He told me she had 'pretty yellow flowers, and balloons mom'...and that she was 'with Jesus'. The headstone is simple, with a scene of Jesus with The Children. A passage from 'Goodnight Moon' is enscribed below her name. I remember seeing the proof come over the fax one day as I cleared the papers off of it. How do you pick out your child's headstone? Really...how do you go through that process?

That made my heart get tight and my throat all choked up. Just to see him there, at her headstone, and telling me her 'story'.

The he wanted to show me the water...he was done.

I'll take him back, and remind him again why I am the kind of mom that I am. Holding hands is the only option. I am a helicopter mom...I am on top of him. He is my one and only...the light of my world...and I will do everything I can to never go through that again.

Now that we are all nice and depressed...again.