Things seemed to be going according to plan. She was running, and climbing and generally just happy, something I really hadn't seen all week from her. She wanted to swing and laughed as I pushed her higher in the sky. Then it happened. Her little behind slipped out of seat of the swing. She was mid air as it happened and she grasped desperately to the chain of the swing. It was like a slow motion event happening right in front of me that I couldn't do anything about. Then she let go. She landed head first on the padding below the swing. I was horrified! I scooped her up and held her tight, feeling for bumps or other signs of trauma. There didn't seem to be any. She cried briefly and was up and running before I knew it. I consulted with my friend about whether to take her to the hospital to get checked out. We both decided I probably wouldn't sleep a wink unless I did.
I took her to the ER and she was seen very quickly. Outside of some scrapes and bruises she seemed just fine. This was her first trip to a hospital since we lost Everett and she was terrified. In Lilli's mind, sad things happen at hospitals. Her experience was turned around with some awesome nurses and a really compassionate ER doc. He listened to me and didn't treat me like the crazy mom I probably appeared to be. He left it up to us if we wanted to do a head scan, as she wasn't exhibiting any signs of a concussion and the radiation exposure isn't a good thing unless really necessary. He told us there was only about a 1% chance that it could be something more serious than what it appeared. I looked at him and explained that didn't give me much comfort as I have experienced first hand the 1% statistic and briefly explained what had happened in our lives 8 months prior. He understood. He didn't treat me like a crazy person. He left the decision up to me. Ugh... I had no husband here to confer with. I got some extra reassurance she was most likely OK and decided against the head scan. I also watched her like a hawk all night and had her sleep next to me just in case. I hoped I had made the right decision.
By morning it appeared I had as she was fine, bouncing around as usual, no headache or anything. She was in a much better mood all day Thursday. I had a chat with Everett Wednesday evening, asking him if he could have a little talk with his sister while she was sleeping, about her behavior. It must have worked. All on her own she told me in the morning that she wanted to go visit Everett. She picked up a toy saxophone she had and said she wanted to play him a song. We hadn't been to the cemetery in months and it was a beautiful day. So many things had to get done before we would go and in the evening we headed over to visit Everett.
As far as cemetery's are concerned he is in a beautiful one. It's well kept and it's quiet, even though it sits right off a busy road. And where he is over looks a lake and the western setting sun. In the evening it almost looks like the lake has glitter in it from the sun sitting lower in the sky. It's beautiful and peaceful.
When we learned Everett had died I was searching my brain as to what we would do with him. Not in your wildest nightmare do you think you'll have to plan a child's funeral. All I could think of when we learned of his death, was that I didn't want him to be alone. My husband agreed. Both my grandparents on my moms side are gone and they are buried in a mausoleum, close to our home, overlooking a beautiful little lake and the western setting sun. I wanted Everett with them. We asked the cemetery if it was possible and it was. So he was placed next to my grandmother's casket inside the wall. This gave me peace. I know he is surrounded by love in Heaven, but I wanted him physically next to someone who would have loved him very much on earth and is probably loving on him everyday now.
It's funny. I thought in the beginning I would be at the cemetery all the time visiting with Everett, but as it turned out I rarely go. I don't feel I have to be there to be close to him. I feel him in my heart and all around me every single moment of every single day. I can't explain the feeling, other than I know he's there and he's happy. So to me, the cemetery is a place where he just physically sits, not where he really is. I feel I can be close to him and talk to him almost anywhere. One thing I hate about going to the cemetery is I can't visit with crying. And I mean really crying. Probably what Oprah would refer to as the "ugly" cry. I try to hide it from Lilli, but she has gotten somewhat used to it. It just feels so, final. Seeing his name on a wall with a date, makes it that much more real. Not that it hasn't been real for a little over 8 months now. It's been very real. There's just something about seeing that name up there...
As we concluded our visit we said goodbye to Everett and Lilli wanted to "hug" him. So she gave a great big air hug to him. Then she wanted to touch his name on the wall so I hoisted her by her legs up high to reach his name. She gently rubbed her hands over it and told Everett she loved him. We got back to the car and she said she had to give him a kiss. Once again she got out of the car, went close to the wall and both kissed our hands and threw the kisses as hard as we could up to Heaven to reach him. This, of course, made me cry even harder. She asked if I was sad and I told her yes. On the way home it was quiet in the car and Lilli said she wished Everett could be at home with us and she missed him very much. I told her I did too. After the week we had it was a nice way to finish a beautiful, peaceful evening.