Memorial...Part II

Wednesday morning we had an appointment at the CP Clinic. It is the clinic Megan had a regular appointment with every six months. We could see all her doctors there in one visit. It took all day - but we fit it all in one trip. We called last week knowing the memorial service was on Tuesday night (the evening before CP Clinic every Wednesday). We got a shipment of Megan's formula, Peptamen Jr., just before we went into the hospital in late August. We really only needed the extension tubings for her GJ-tube that time we placed our order but the medical supply provider said they had to ship the entire monthly order at once and not just the extensions. So, we accepted the shipment to get the extensions.


We took these 10 cases (that's 240 cans) of the Peptamen Jr. to the clinic so that they could give it to families who needed it before it expired. After all, it was almost two months worth of a co-pay that someone else might not have to shell out to feed their child. We felt good as we packed up the little red wagon and rolled it back through the clinic door. A mother making her next appointment at the desk said, "Wow! They don't need all that anymore? Their child must be eating now." I tried to ignore it but just said, "Not exactly" and kept walking to our destination. The lady thanked us and said they would give it to people who could use it. I sincerely hope they do. This was the first complete item of Megan's that we have given away as of yet.

We decided to get breakfast in the cafeteria before going to the Pulmonary Unit to see if any of our 4 fabulous nurses were available for a hug. We got some last pictures of Monica with Ronald.


As we were sitting there eating our breakfast the first thing I noticed was this sign that things were going to change at the hospital.


If I hadn't been there I wouldn't have known that all the phone numbers were changing. It's a sign of life still moving forward there. Everything was not as we left it the morning of October 2, 2009.

I was going to be OK until Monica looked at me and said, "Look, Mom, there's a girl like May May." I looked up and sure enough there were two little girls sitting in their wheelchairs there eating breakfast with their mothers. I made it all the way to Indianapolis, to the Memorial service, through the service, even talking afterward, all night at the hotel, and still through the CP clinic visit. But when Monica said that to me, I lost my composure. I just sat there and said, "You're right" as the tears came and I couldn't help it.

I missed Megan more in that moment than I ever have I think. I wanted her to be sitting in her wheelchair there beside us like she had been so many times. The permanence came over me. We would never have a reason to return to Riley and need to update the phone numbers in our cell phones to the new extensions.

I collected myself as much as I could and we went to see if we could find our nurses. We saw one of them and hugged her. I cried there too. Then, we took Monica to see the child life specialists that worked with her. We found two of them and she got hugs. They also gave her an art project - they're so good at that. It's what they do.

Then, we got in the van and started the trip home. The trip home was very quiet. The conversation was sparse between us. I had to call Monica's name to get her to answer a couple of times to make sure she was still back there. She was - no worries.

We drove by Granny's grave site as we passed through Kokomo. Once we got back to town we stopped to see Megan's grave site since it was also on the way home. We sat in the circle and looked at all her decorations. There was still snow. The snow in Kokomo has melted already. The footprints from our last visit were still visible but fading.

As we drove out of the back of the cemetery alongside the shed, we noticed the presence of something that seemed more permanent than the absence we have been feeling and the black ink marks on the pages that still loomed in our past. We had been waiting on it all winter and anticipating its arrival. We wanted it and were excited to see it, but the sight of it took our breath away.