Reality is living in the aftermath of watching you suffer and die is much more difficult than I ever imagined.

Reality is it has been nearly four years since our world was flipped upside down and nearly three years since I naively thought the nightmare was over.  Truly, it was only beginning.

Time marches on, but I remain stuck in time. The world moves. I move too, but never forward.  

Reality is you have been gone for almost three years, but my grief shows no signs of relenting.

What is real is the perpetual lump in my throat.

What is real are the tears which threaten to spill at any moment, on any day, for any reason.

The bitterness and anger which weigh down my soul...they are real too.  As is the envy which rears its ugly head with an embarrassingly humbling frequency.

The constant assault of memories of every single way I failed you as a mother? Yeah. This brutality is hands down my least favorite form of real.

Reality is, while you were alive, while you were suffering, my faith was strong and it literally saved me. I clung to Him.  I clung to Him, not because I was strong, but rather because I had no choice.  I was so weak I had no choice but to embrace the weakness and cling to Him in faith. This was the only way to survive.  There was no time to think.  Every moment was an opportunity to live with you. We were in survival mode.

Reality is survival mode was a much brighter place to live in than the aftermath has been. 

Survival mode meant constant surrender to Him and whatever His will had in store for you, for us. Constant surrender led to a peace which permeated my soul. 

Survival mode meant choosing joy every moment so as not to waste a single moment. Our house was never before, and has not been since, as joyful as it was during the eleven months we spent choosing joy with you.

Survival mode meant modeling unyielding trust in the goodness of His holy will, and whatever suffering it brought with it, in hopes that your faith would not waiver at the moment of death.  Trust in the goodness of His holy will soothed my pain, and I hope it did yours as well. Our purpose on this earth, our only purpose, remained at the forefront of every thought.  "This is NOT the end," was our constant mantra. This perspective, even now, makes it seem like so much less of a cross.  Unfortunately, most of the time in the aftermath, I forget this truth.

Reality is those months were difficult, but our faith, choosing joy, and trusting in Him, literally kept us afloat and allowed us to weather the storm with relative ease.  

When I awoke a few hours after your soul had departed and your body had been released from our home, the weight of all that had happened began to descend upon me.  For the first time since diagnosis I allowed myself to feel it, and it was heavy.  Darkness immediately entered in, bringing with it doubt, which three years later continues to torment my soul. That darkness descended upon me, remains in me, and has continued to fester for nearly three years now.  

Of those nearly three years, this last year has proven to be the worst.  As I wrote above, time marches on.  While I've been mentally imprisoned in 2019, everyone around me has moved forward with the march of time. Gabe, still newly confirmed and fresh out of grade 8 in my mind, has grown into an adult man, ready to graduate high school and leave the nest. JP was just confirmed and moves on to high school next fall. It's like a repeat of 4 years ago without me understanding how it's all happening again when it just happened. Emeric?  He's no longer the baby. He's finishing sixth grade and is about to make me the shortest member of our family. My greatest shock though, is seeing the infants you held in your sickness grown into independent four year olds. Time marches on and my brain fails to fully comprehend it.  

While the rest of the world is moving further and further away from what happened, I am just waking up to the reality of it. This awakening has been intensified in the past six months. I am now for the first time feeling the weight of all of this sans medication. This is difficult, but I think it is a process I need to go through. 

The reality is, in my grief I have lost focus of the truths which sustained me through those darkest hours and gave me joy in the midst of suffering. I have forgotten the most important realities:
-I am a child of God.
-You always belonged to Him and were only on loan to us.
-This world is not our final destination.
-This world is nothing but the blink of an eye in eternity.
-Your soul, my soul, all of our souls, were made to be with Him in heaven.
-His plan is ALWAYS for the good of our souls, therefore, peace is found in surrender to His holy will.
-Joy is a choice, and can be possessed in the midst of the greatest crosses.
-All the saints carried gigantic crosses.
-You left this earth in a state of grace...mission complete.
-He cried with me.
-He rejoiced for you...because He KNOWS the end of the story!
-He carried me.
-He loves you more than I do.
-He knows what He's doing.
-I'm in good company. No one knows the pain of watching a child suffer and die more intimately than sweet Mama Mary.
-Light shatters the darkness.
-You spent countless hours scouring the internet reading about saints throughout your childhood. Now you reside with them, or certainly will someday if you are still purgatory.
-Purgatory is a wonderful gift!
-This is not the end.
-The reality is without Him this life is pointless.
-What so many turn their backs on and throw away, you clung to, and treasured.
-Your suffering is gone.
-Your mission continues on the other side of the veil.
-You're more alive than ever.
-All my mistakes and failings no longer hurt you.
-Goldfinches covering a tree
-An oriole literally knocking on the front window
-Creeping Phylox blooming on your grave in December
-The beautiful cloud pointing out the direction to your funeral Mass
-A monstrosity of a dandelion
-The clearing of your complexion moments after death
-A dragonfly refusing to fly away and allowing humans to pet it

It's all real. All of it. The devil tries to convince me it's not. He's a liar and delights in messing with my naturally pessimistic head.

So what is reality?  Reality is I'm a hot mess. I'm a hot mess, and that's okay.  It's okay, but I don't want to stay a hot mess forever. I need to find my way back to focusing on the beauty of truth.  Without which, I would never have made it this far.Doubt and despair are friends of darkness and enemies of the light. We must cling to the light and find our solace in Him and in His truths.

Rest in peace, sweet girl. Help me to see reality clearly.  Pray for me.  Pray for all of us.  We need your prayers.

Good afternoon, my sweet girl.  I made it to the cemetery to switch the advent wreath out for a bit of wintery-Christmas decor.  In my efforts to tidy things up a bit, I knelt down to pick up what I thought were loose petals of artificial flowers that had blown onto the green creeping/moss phlox in front of your stone.  However, once my old eyes got closer I realized they were far from artificial petals in need of pick up.  Rather, they were buds on the creeping/moss phlox, trying to open...ON DECEMBER 29!  Granted, today we have unseasonably warm weather (mid fifties), but in the last week we've had highs of : -8, 3, 5, 14, 16, 36, and 48.  I even checked all my phlox in the backyard (which is always the first/warmest area to produce blooms in the spring,) they are all bare. From the bottom of this plant-loving mama's heart, I ask you, sweet girl, to thank Him for this little gift to me. Thank Him for giving me this bit of unexpected and unseasonable beauty in the midst of this dark winter I've been living in.
All my love,
Mama

Chances are very likely if you have asked for prayers in the past couple months, and I have responded, I have prayed.  I have prayed, but I've also asked her to pray and placed your intention in this beautiful box in her room.  This connection of seeking intercession from our friends on earth as well as those in purgatory and heaven is a powerful comfort and reminder we are all together as part of Holy Mother Church.  I love asking her to pray.  It reminds me that she still lives and has a mission.  Before she died, dear Fr. Parker encouraged her to ask St. Therese to join her in spending her heaven doing good on earth.  Isabella took his advice and made this request.  I trust she is doing just that.  So send your prayers.  Seek her intercession. 
My faith is weak and sometimes I am plagued with negativity and doubt.  Not Dave's though.  When he prays, he fully expects results.  He is not shy about asking big.  He never has been and God blesses him abundantly when he does this.  So I have to share...Dave missing so much work when she was sick, and the pandemic, have resulted in us getting creative and pinching pennies more than we've had to in the past.  Empty schedules send him to his knees.  We were in her room the other night and I was showing him the "treasure box of prayers" asking her to intercede.  He decided to ask her to pray for his work schedule.  He specifically requested for his schedule to fill up until he retires.  His days which had very few patients scheduled are filling to the max day by day.  This is, of course, due to the hard work of the office girls who are making phone calls and trying to fill it up, but in our hearts we also know someone has asked Our Lord for this gift for her earthly family.  When he came home for lunch today, he joyfully announced, "Izzie's killing me again today!"  Thank you, dear girl, for praying for us, and thank you, Lord, for taking care of our daily bread.

P.S. We are hoping to set up a weather safe small box at her grave for anyone who wants to visit and leave a prayer request.  Again, her daddy thinks big.  He strongly desires her to be considered for sainthood (what daddy wouldn't?) and if God wills for this to happen there are going to have to be people asking her to intercede.  So we welcome your requests and visits.

P.P.S. The picture is of her as she appeared at her funeral.  First Communion Veil, Confirmation dress.  The rosary she was holding when she passed.

There was a beautiful vase of red and white roses in front of the statue of Mary at church last night.  On my way back to my pew after going to confession, I spotted it and immediately smiled.  Some people get texts from their friends, or letters, or emails.  I get flowers.  

I don't know quite where this post is going.  Ella's been on my mind a lot this afternoon, and that familiar sadness in the pit of my stomach is there again.  I think of her every day, but there are different kinds of feelings that go with it each time.  Some are joyful and peaceful.  Some are hard.  This kind of sadness is the kind that demands attention and begs to be let out into words, and so I thought I'd ramble.  Forgive me in advance. (: 

I can't believe I've only written a couple things on here.  I guess it feels like every time I go to write something, there are no right words, so I just sit there with emotions swelling inside of me, wishing I had her gift for knowing just the thing to say.

I don't have any conventional anecdotes to share from our friendship.  Our friendship was anything but conventional, living 14+ hours apart and not having met each other in person for the majority of the time we new each other.  Most of the time that we hung out, we had a screen or a keyboard between us, but we certainly made the most of it.  There was the time on a video call when we pretended our closets were Narnian-style portals that could transport us to each other's houses.  (It was our firm belief that even sophisticated and grown-up girls of fifteen and seventeen could still play make-believe).  We also had an elaborate plan to bring truth, goodness and beauty back into the arts, which we texted about nearly every day.  (Just, you know, a normal conversation between teens). 

We're both old-souls.  But I feel so much older now that she's not here to be silly and creative with me, to send me quotes that could be potential mottoes for our "Truth, Beauty and Goodness" initiative, and swap stories about our brothers' shenanigans. 

The picture is a Polaroid I took when we met each other in person two Novembers ago.  (That was the one captured right after our first attempt failed because I forgot that I still needed to take out the plastic piece from the film and we smiled for the camera and no picture was taken!)  I like instant camera photos because they're so tangible.  I remember waiting for the picture to develop and watching as the colors seeped into the frame.  Sometimes memories are like that.  All you need is a bit of familiar sadness and something to trigger memories and then the color and emotion flood in to remind you of why it hurts so much sometimes.

I miss you, Ella dear.  I hope it's bright and sunshine-y where you are. (:      

I met Isabella on my first day of freshman year. She was slumped in a chair in the second row, her golden hair catching the early morning sun through the square window panes. I was late to class, and stole the open seat next to her. I was determined to have a friend in the class, someone to partner up with on projects and talk to with hushed voices during quiet stolen moments. I have never really been one to start conversations, but my weak conversation skills felt irrelevant when speaking with her. She seemed unexcited by the idea of high school, and that made me all the more determined to make her time at Wahlert a pleasant memory.

Never before have I personally experienced death. I have known people that have died, but they have all been old and had accomplished everything they wanted to. Isabella wasn’t finished. During my time knowing her, she told me many dreams of hers: dreams to be a writer, dreams to be an artist, dreams to be a mother. Dreams that unfortunately will never come true. Childhood cancer never seemed real to me. It was something that happened in movies or books, ending with either a miracle or sending the theater home with half-empty bags of popcorn and watery eyes. It was something of a fiction novel, something that happened to people I didn’t know. It seemed impossible for someone I knew, someone my age to take on such a huge challenge. It seemed unfair that she, of all people, was chosen. She had done nothing to deserve anything other than the best things in life, and yet she faced her seemingly unfair battle with courage. 

I realize now that even great people die. Even kind and selfless people die. Death is not reserved for the old and wicked. It is a universal experience. And I know that if I, too, must die, I want to leave this world with no regrets. Isabella spent her life living in the love of Christ and spreading joy to those around her. It’s important to not dwell on death, but the impermanence of life gives us the unique opportunity to live every day as though it is our last. We live on through the memories that those who knew us carry. Our legacy is created by how we act every single day. I've been thinking of Isabella quite often lately as I get ready to go off to college and open the next chapter of my life. I spent the last day of my senior year (and also my 18th birthday!!) visiting her grave. I was glad to spend my last day of high school the same way I did my first, talking to her. I know my experience knowing Isabella isn't unique to me. Everyone who knew who will forever be touched by her unwavering faith and courage. This post honestly serves no real purpose, but I hope at least one person is able to relate with my experience.

Sweet Isabella Rose on Saturday, July 10, 14 1/2 months after you went to live with Jesus, Mom and Dad are getting to have your memorial Mass and reception, celebrating your life. It had to be put on hold due to Covid-19 virus. They are working hard to make it perfect for you and I am sure it will be. I miss you so much each and every day. I miss your smile and your wit and everything about you. Everyone says that time heals but I am sure I don't have enough time here for that to happen. I have been trying to picture you ( and you know that is hard for my mind LOL) in a field of beautiful flowers, in a beautiful flowing white dress. surrounded by little angels listening to you read to them. With hope, I believe that we will be together again but until then I will celebrate you everyday. Papa and I LOVE and MISS you always and you are forever in our hearts. P.S. I will be eating ICE CREAM on Sa. enjoying every bite!!!!

     Before Isabella passed she and I had multiple conversations about ways we hoped God would send signals and signs to us that she was in heaven. Birds were high on our list of ideas, but they were not the only thing discussed. In the world of fantasy and fairytales, often there is a dragon.  For this reason, I thought dragonflies would make a lovely sign. Besides their name being a reminder of her love of fantasy, I have always found them beautiful. I liked the idea, but I wasn't particularly optimistic seeing them would bring me much comfort.  Afterall, it is not uncommon in our area to see them.  In fact, we see them frequently throughout the summer months.  If my memory serves me well, she and I specifically talked about this and then shrugged our shoulders.  
     Last summer we saw dragonflies of course, and they always warmed my heart.  However, nothing ever stuck out in a way that didn't seem common.  Nothing stood out as out of the ordinary.  Fast forward a year.  We spent the weekend on the river.  On Friday, we noticed dragonflies were abundant and not shy about landing on us.  On Saturday we took out the kayaks and paddle boards.  We noticed we had some "friends" with us for most of the journey.  One in particular which rode for quite sometime on JP's back on the paddleboard.  I think we all loved having them around, and enjoyed thinking of her and how she would have loved the trip.  Personally, I felt like she was letting us know she was happy for us and with us.  It brought great peace.  Still though, I wouldn't have said with certainty it was a sign from Him.  Then came Sunday.  JP opened the back door calling for me.  "Mom!" he said, "I can't get it off me.  It won't leave."  A large dragonfly had befriended him on our dock and landed on his shoulder.  He walked off the dock, up the dike steps, across the street, through the backyard, and stood at the door, dragonfly still on his shoulder.  I blew on it.  He said, "Mom, you don't think I have tried that?"  It didn't budge.  He was trying to encourage it to fly off by gently pushing it with his finger.  It didn't budge.  He was able to "pet" it without it moving.  I hurried to get my phone so I could record it before it took off.  No need to hurry though.  It wasn't going anywhere.  Tired and hungry, he was ready to go into the house.  At this point I thought maybe it was injured. We finally just slipped the life jacket off, and set it on a tub, where immediately the dragonfly took off.  No injuries.  I can be skeptical.  Most times God has to make things REALLY clear for me to believe.  This did it! 

I have an obsession with writing, a gift from a girl who touched so many lives without knowing that she was doing so. Knowing you, Ella, even as briefly as I did, changed me forever, and for the better.

From my obsession for writing came other obsessions: obsessions for notebooks, pencils and pens, books written by fellow Seton homeschoolers, creating, and especially learning. Learning about stories, people and their behaviors, their looks, their hopes, their dreams, their quirks and opinions; learning about the trivium (grammar, logic, rhetoric), the quadrivium (arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy), sciences, medicine, landscapes, cultures, languages and their dialects, their histories and evolutions; learning about history, present day inventions, religion, simple phonics and spelling, and words, their definitions, synonyms, antonyms, and homonyms; learning about even the quirkiest minutia fact fascinates me because it is something which might inspire me to write, or help me write more precisely in the future, or just be there and help me write by the mere fact of being there.

Thank you so much for my obsessions, Ella, because you were the one who started them all without meaning to or knowing it, but I would never change what you did if I had a choice.

Thanks to my obsessions, I always carry a pen and pencil with my everywhere, and a scrap of paper too when I can. I have made friends who I can relate to in many ways and friends who will stand by me throughout the worst of my life, friends who will help me even if I don’t ask them to. I have grown as a person from thousands of journeys I’ve taken while writing and reading, grown into a more complete and better person, with self-confidence and many things I did not have. I have learned many things, and learned to love learning. The more I know, the more I see, the more I give glory to God who made it all!

So I say once more, thank you, Ella, for changing my life without knowing it, because I am a better person for it.

Thanks to my obsessions, school has been easier, life has been easier. Writing was first something I wanted to do because it was cool, then a way of expressing myself when I struggled to speak with anyone about what I happened to be going through, then a joyous passion through which many things happened and come into being: friendships, joys, solutions, and so much more. Writing has often helped me find answers problems and struggles in my life.

My passion for writing has brought me friends I would otherwise never have had, joys I would have been without, hope I would have lost forever instead of saving forever, love I would never have known, strength I could never have obtained, peace I could never have reached, and light where nothing else pierced the darkness. Truthfully, writing is at very least a third of my life and touches every aspect  of my life in some way, unavoidably.

Thank you, Ella, for a life full of Wonder, joy, friendship, hope, knowledge, passion, love, pain, sorrow, strength, glory, and richness. I would never have begun writing without you encouraging me to take the first step.

Thank you for starting my hands on their wandering writing journey in 2016, and praising my first story. I still commemorate it by using a detail from it for my passwords, and even secretly called my favorite cat one of the characters’ names. Thank you for reappearing in my life ever so briefly in 2017 and unknowingly strengthening my desire to write with other stories you’d written. And again in 2018, when I met you once more and we talked about what you loved to write and what I loved to write. Your passion fueled mine.

The beginning of your battle against cancer in 2019 inspired me once more to continue writing, because I never knew when the chance would disappear, as it tragically was for you. I would try to change that for you if I could, but only if you wished it. Amidst your battle, we talked again and you made it easy to forget that you were struggling because you had not changed from your sweet, considerate, kind, passionate self. Like all the times before, I came away from that exchange inspired and reinvigorated. Your death in 2020 was a shot and loss to everyone. I cried even though I had no real claim on knowing you. I prayed fervently for your peace. Your death made me look back and realize what exactly you had done for me, in the minuscule exchanges we had, the brief but joyous memories we had made.

You inspired me to start writing, and you inspired me to continue, time and again. Thanks to you, I have published two short works: a personal poem and a personal short story. Thanks to you, I have the strength, knowledge, and skill to survive the attacks of many things in my life (like a troll, for example), and to know when I must turn to God for the necessary final strength. I owe you my life, my friends, my hopes, my dreams, my joy and sorrow, my pain and healing, my strength and weaknesses, my love. My obsessions and passions.

Others inspire my stories, fueling me with ideas to write, but you, Ella, fuel my passion, my drive, my burning desire to create something beautiful with my literary gifts, something extraordinary, something worthy of your words: “This is amazing!”

You helped me through my times of struggle against emotions. You helped me through my struggle against emotionlessness. You helped me through my struggles against despair. You helped me through my tortuous time during which I fought with and almost lost my best friend. Before I met you, I never had any real, lasting friends. Now, thanks to you, I have many.

You have given me a gift I can never repay. And the funny thing is, you didn’t know it or mean to. And that is just you. That is just Ella. If you were alive today and could reply to all this so I could hear, you would probably say you’d never really done anything for me (it was me doing it), but that you appreciated the praise. You’d accept it in your quiet, gentle, kind way.

You are beautiful, Ella. You are the inspiration of my passion. I never quite knew you, but I miss you. I feel unworthy to call you my friend. You would probably call me yours within a heartbeat of meeting me.

You are my fire, the reason I write, the reason I will never stop writing. I write for you, Ella, because you inspire my passion and will never stop doing that.

Thank you for love, light, and life. Requisat in pace, Ella. “Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo; a star shines on the hour of our meeting.” And may the light of God shine brightly in your face.



~ A Little Gem You Inspire to Write

Isabella was one of the very good friends I had made. She brought a smile to my face at hard times. She never refused to pray for me, she was always there at hard times. Her heart was the special thing about her. She always had a kind, caring and gentle heart, never did she give up on anything. She had strength and faith, One if the amazing things I loved about Isabella was her kind heart and beautiful smile. Isabella had amazing, kind and fantastic parents. Whenever she talked about them I knew straight away that she was born into an amazing family. She had three loving brothers which I do not know all of them, I know one of them a little. But what I've got to know she was born into a beautiful, blessed and faithful family. God certainly blessed her parents with her. She loved music especially praising music. One of her favourites were Oceans by Hillsong worship, She loved it so much. For her anniversary I covered it on the piano for her family. I decided to share it with you all today. I haven't been playing long and I've been teaching myself. It's just with one hand aswell. I will always be praying for your family Isabella and you will always remain In my heart. I love you! God bless

Our sweet Isabella Rose, it has been a year today that you left us and went to your heavenly home.We keep thinking perhaps we are going to wake up and find this has just been a horrible nightmare. Of course, we  know it is not.... we know it is real. There are no words to describe the hole in our hearts and the pain of missing you. We believe that, WITH HOPE we will see your beautiful face, contagious smile and sparkling eyes.WITH HOPE, we will hear your soft voice and feel your gentle touch. WITH HOPE, we will listen with laughter to your wit. WITH HOPE, we will read your latest novel and see your amazing sketches. WITH HOPE, we believe someday we will be face to face again.  ,  we believe all of these things will happen.  Until then, know how much we love and miss you and know that you are always and forever in our hearts. Granny and Papa ( Song With Hope  by Steven Curtis Chapman //www.youtube.com/watch?v=5oiIX9hl9gg)

One of the many beautiful blessings of the Easter season is First Holy Communion. I had the honor of team teaching 2nd grade religious education with Misty Auer for quite a few years. I think fondly of those years often. Misty is a wonderful and inspiring teacher. One year, Isabella was in our class. It was a special blessing to have such a devout, faith-filled and knowledgeable student! Isabella wore the most beautiful dress and veil I have ever seen, so fitting for a beautiful young lady so in love with our Lord!

One of the things Isabella had on her "bucket list" was to go fishing. So the summer of 2019 we all went out on the pontoon to go fishing. Of course, the fishing was not good and Isabella was sitting with Papa while some  of the others kept trying their luck. I was taking pictures and this is one of Papa's favorites. We love and miss her, she is forever in our hearts

Isabella felt like a saint to me. When I talked to her I felt so happy and grateful. She made me smile, and laugh a lot. When she got sick I felt inside me that if she passed away I'd be lost, but no I wasn't, I feel her with me every day. Everytime I pray to her I actually feel like she listens, she was such an amazing friend to me. and I felt very blessed to know her, I felt very blessed to be apart of her life.
God brought her to heaven where she will be happy forever, no pain, no sufferings nothing but happiness. I always dreamed of meeting Isabella, because I lived in Ireland and she was in America I always knew that it would be hard to meet.God bless

Our first sign……isn't he beautiful?  It was on May 27, almost 1 month to the day Isabella went home to Jesus. This beautiful cardinal came to our  open window, being sure to get our attention…..twice.  He had to come between the window and the screen to do this (our windows open from the bottom). He stayed there between the window and screen just flapping his wings, as we stood 7' away talking to him. Then he flew to the wire and seemed to be watching over us. It was AMAZING!!! Thank you God and Isabella Rose.LOVE you so much!   Forever missed and always in our hearts Gran and Papa

     Grief is unpredictable.  I never know where my emotions will be from one day to the next. I miss you.  We are entering the anniversary of your days of great suffering.  Each day is a new reminder of the hell you lived here on earth in your final days and weeks.  Each day I have been spiraling deeper and deeper into a dark depression.  
     Last night my mind was active, sleep would not come.  I tried to rest in Jesus.  I tried to feel close to you.  I was reminded of the place I lived in while you were sick.  The place in which the only way to find peace, the only way to get sleep, was to completely surrender everything to Him.  I was reminded of this, and did this once again.  I gave Him my worries, my fears, my emptiness, everything.  Peace and sleep must have followed, because I don't remember much after this.  
     I truly believe God has a sense of humor, and I truly believe He is active in every moment of our lives.  It's just most of the time I am so focused on worldly things or myself, that I fail to see and hear Him.  I wonder too, how often He allows you to be near me, but I fail to feel your presence?  Was it you?  Were you there?  I know in my heart, it was.  Now, I shall share the story...
     Isabella had a great sense of humor.  It wasn't obvious, it was quiet.  It was witty.  The mark of humor was often seen in the twinkle of her eyes when she knew she was doing something to bring herself a good laugh.  Somewhere along the road of our journey, she began to poke me and make me jump for giggles.  She'd take her bony little finger, and give me a good poke.  A poke which was so swift and sharp, I would almost always jump, or yipe.  This startled reaction was her payoff.  She loved to surprise me, and we would lock eyes and giggle. It may have started in her mania and psychosis.  I don't remember for sure. When it began doesn't really matter.  What matters is that this was a special loving interaction between us until she could no longer poke.  That poke, and the look in her eyes when she did it, spoke volumes to me.  It spoke profoundly to my heart and said, "I love you, Mama."  
     Many mornings I am awakened by Emeric sneaking into our bedroom and opening the door to let Joy and Bosco into our room.  Joy then jumps on our bed and licks my face.  What better way to wake up could there possibly be?!  I can hear it coming as Joy runs down the hall, and slams into the closed door with her little paws.  Seconds later, I know my face will be licked, I will open my eyes, turn, and see Emeric standing to my left.  This morning was a little bit different, and I suspect Our Lord was allowing Miss Isabella to reach me and pull me out of the despair I've been living in.
    As I slept I heard the usual gallop down the hall.  At the moment I heard Joy slam into the door, I distinctly felt a sharp poke on my thigh.  I jumped, gasped, and looked over to ask Emeric what that was for ( I much prefer licks to pokes).  Only Emeric wasn't there.  The room was empty.  Joy was still pounding on the door.  Immediately a familiarity of the feeling of that particular poke struck me, and I was filled with joy. I feel very far away from Isabella most days.  This has been what is most difficult for me.  I had expected to feel her presence even more strongly after she passed than when she was here, as that is the experience I have had with our babies who have never lived outside of the womb.  For whatever reason, it has been completely opposite this with Isabella.  The morning she died, I felt so empty and alone.  So distant.  The signs I see or feel are few and far between.  Maybe they are there and I miss them, maybe He doesn't want to spoil me.  It's not for me to understand.  However, what happened this morning (I truly believe it was her,) and any little sign I receive, gives me great renewed joy.  I feel like I've been in the desert without relief for most of this year since she has passed.  So I am incredibly grateful for every oasis which God allows.  Even if it is in the form of a startling poke. 

A few months ago, after making a milk carton bird feeder as a science project, I was getting no birds and asked Isabella to send me some, specifically cardinals. After it snowed the first time this winter, the feeder was empty (probably stolen by squirrels, and a few birds as well), and very soggy, so I took it inside and threw it away. A few days later, I was sitting in the dining room when Lori yelled, “Whoa! Look at all the birds!” I ran out to the kitchen window and there were a LOT of birds, there had to be at least twenty five of them. But there was more to it than that. They were all cardinals (except one lonely robin sitting in the front yard), and what’s more, most of them, unlike usual, were girls. And to me, most wonderful of all, was that the first place a whole bunch of them flew was the now-empty tree that once held my soggy carton feeder.
(Submitted by Bridget McKean)

This is one of my favorite pictures of Isabella and her "little" cousin Dillon. Pretty  sure she was just 2 and he was just learning to walk at 9 mos. Of course, since she always loved babies,Sweet Ella Rose. the little care giver, was helping him walk.We see that beautiful smile and sparkling eyes even at this young age. Love and miss her so much. Always on any mind and forever in my heart

Happy Birthday to our sweet angel in heaven. It has been such a delight to watch Isabella grown up surrounded by the Auer family among all of her cousins. Mac and George loved to have all the cousins together over many holiday and birthday celebrations. It was always fun to have Isabella's birthday party's over the Thanksgiving holiday. Aunt Misty always made the most extraordinary and elaborate cakes for the birthday celebration. We will cherish our memories of these gatherings forever. We hold onto the memory of Isabella's beautiful smile and the sound of her laughter. The twinkle in her beautiful blue eyes will never be forgotten. We have a feeling that her birthday party in heaven will involve much laughter, cupcakes and ice cream shared with grandpa and grandma Auer. We miss you sweet Isabella and we hold you dear in our memory and in forever in our hearts!

I knew the moment I learned of her illness and she was striving to finish her book this child was very special.  I am so grateful to her, though I didn't know her personally but she gave of herself at such a young age and allowed me to come and pray the rosary and autograph her book.  Her entire family was suffering so much but did it with faith and joy.  Eternal Rest upon you, Isabella.

Today we got snow!  We got snow, took our Christmas photos, and guess who showed up to scout out the feeder? At one point I'm pretty sure there were seven. This photo captured three.

One of the things I miss the most about Isabella is her sense of humor and her laugh.  Of the children, Isabella and I shared the most similar sense of humor.  My story today is about the first time and the last time I heard her laugh.  We were riding to Guttenberg to visit the Grandparents when she was only 4 months old.  Isabella was in her car seat that was facing backwards in our 2002 Ford Escape.  Shaggy, our 100 pound Golden Retriever, was riding in the very back with the luggage.  There was a dog gate that separated Shaggy from Isabella to keep her safe.  Isabella spent her early days watching Shaggy's every move.  During the ride, the luggage shifted suddenly and Shaggy jumped around in the back area to avoid a suitcase.  Her first giggle was the result of his distress!!!  She had that good sense of humor at such a young age.  Fast forward, 17 years and I also heard one of her last laughs after I told a joke about Joy. Joy was laying flat, facing her food dish.  I said she should prostrate towards Jesus, not her food. To which Isabella responded with a vocal snort and a twinkle in her eyes. Even though Isabella lost her ability to talk in her advanced illness in April, she still was able to laugh one last time.  Among many things I miss about her, I will always miss her laugh.

The Background:
1.  Isabella loved penguins.  I don't know why, but she did.  They were always first in her heart at the zoo. Penguin figurines dot the shelves in her room, next to statues of saints, snow globes, and loads of books. She loved them.

2.  Advent is a favorite season in our house. One of our favorite traditions is preparing our tree for Jesus, just as we prepare our hearts throughout the weeks of advent.  We put up our bare tree on the first Sunday of Advent and every night after bedtime prayers each family member adds one ornament to the tree. The kids have fun digging through the tub to find their favorite ornaments, and to add to the fun, each year I buy them a new ornament to be gifted to them on the Feast of St. Nicholas, bishop of Myra (thanks to Ann for this idea). 

The Story:
A few weeks ago I was strolling the aisles of Hobby Lobby searching for this year's ornaments to give the boys.  I was sad, thinking about Isabella.  I'm not quite sure how we'll do things moving forward with her gone.  Will we put her ornaments on the tree?  Will we get a separate tree just for her ornaments? I wandered the aisles, misty eyes, pondering these things.  I had already picked out ornaments for the boys and they were in the cart.  I hadn't looked for an ornament for her. After all, she is gone.  I already am not sure what we'll do with the ones she has, but still the question came to mind, should I buy one for Isabella?  Before the thought had even finished forming I turned (to leave I think) and there directly in my line of vision was the girly-est penguin I had ever seen, and instantly I knew.  It may be the most fitting ornament I've ever found for her. It's been sitting on my mantle ever since and warms my heart each time I see it. It warms my soul not only because it is cute and reminds me of Isabella, but because finding it in the way I did was a gift.  It was a strong reminder that I do not walk alone. I don't know if it was my guardian angel, the Holy Spirit, or even Isabella, who directed my line of vision, but I do know that when it happened I immediately knew I was not alone in my thoughts or on my shopping trip.  Furthermore, this was a confirmation of our beautiful belief that this is not our true home and there is much, much, more to come! She's not just gone. She lives!

Dave's favorite birds are orioles and goldfinches.  I like both of those too, but my favorites are cardinals and bluebirds.  When Isabella and I had our little conversations about signs of birds and asking God to send them, I wondered how we might know it was a gift from God vs. just normal bird behavior in our yard.  The timing of the goldfinches seemed to do the trick, and was the first thing to bring me a bit of peace after she passed. That the oriole was a sign was even more obvious to me.  It was over the top and like nothing we had ever witnessed in our yard before or after, although my parents said they often have a tapper on the window.  Maybe normal for them, but certainly not for us.  As for cardinals, we normally have a pair in our yard each winter so I'll be expecting them to be around this winter as well.  If there are more than two I may get excited. I'm sharing all of this today, because this morning as Dave was leaving for work, he called me to the window.  He asked me to look at the bird in our crabapple tree.  I didn't recognize it at first.  Maybe because it was bigger than others I have seen.  Perhaps because its' orange chest was more dull than vibrant.  We looked and I commented that its' head almost looked grey, or bluish.  At that moment, it turned and fluttered its' beautiful wings and vibrant blue erupted from its' back. A beautiful, fat, bluebird sat in our tree.  As Dave hurried to get a picture, it flew away.  A moment's glance at this beautiful creature may not have been captured on film, but I will store the memory as a treasure in my heart and share it here, so as to never forget.  This bird marks the third time in ten years of living here that we have seen a bluebird in the yard.  In May of 2010 when we moved in, I saw one bluebird in the woods for several days.  I was so very exited because I had never seen a bluebird in person before.  It was gone after a few days and we didn't see another until May 2019.  Dave and the boys had built nesting boxes to try to attract bluebirds to the yard.  The day we took Isabella into the E.R. we had seen bluebirds in the yard, checking out the boxes.  I don't know how long they stayed, because we were in the hospital for the next 11 days.  When we came home there were no bluebirds though, and the boxes were taken over by amazingly aggressive little birds.  No more bluebirds.  So this morning's visitor warmed my heart. I had to wonder if it was a a request of my girl, granted by Our Lord, to comfort her mama. Afterall, our bird-sign conversations have been fresh in my mind since creating this website last week.  God is good and He cares for us and showers us with even the tiniest of gifts, like seeing a bird, that reminds us of His love for us and our sweet girl.  He's good like that.

This picture was taken last year at this time.  After making the 14 hour drive to visit the Auers, Ella and I were together in person at last.  After 2 years of connecting via Catholic Harbor, Seton Writer's Club, texting, and video calls, we were together. <3 

Those days we had together are ones I'll never forget.  I will always cherish them as some of my dearest memories.  The time spent simply being with her was such a blessing to me.  Every moment we spent together edified me and lifted my soul to God. 

Ella and I didn't talk much about what would happen if she didn't receive a miracle.  It was maybe the one thing left unspoken in all of our conversations.  But when our visit came to an end I knew we probably wouldn't see each other again in person this side of heaven.  We sat in her room that day, talking, and letting the silences between words say more than we ever could.  It was after one of these silences that she said, so quietly, "Faith, I'm going to miss you so much when you leave."  To me, words carried so much more than a simple "I'll miss you."  I saw it in her eyes and it was one of those moments that break your heart and heal your soul at the same time.  To me, it was her saying all the things we couldn't bring ourselves to voice.  To me, it was a goodbye.  Not a permanent one, but an "Until we meet again."  "I'll miss you.  You'll miss me.  But we'll be together again; you'll see." 

And then we just held hands for a while, letting the silence wrap us in a gentle embrace.

I miss her so much today. <33 

On the morning Isabella was buried, while we were driving from our home to the Church, we looked up at the blue sky and saw the most beautiful cloud.  It looked like a giant young girl in a dress, lying on her stomach, with long hair flowing back, and with arms pointing across the whole city towards the Church.  We snapped photos and later realized (and it was confirmed by the driver's daughter) that her vault was being transported in the vehicle ahead of us.  God had taken back into His complete care, one of the six greatest gifts He has given us.  He knew our sorrow and showered us with consolations to dull the pain.

Emeric loves dandelions.  Shortly before she died, he picked dandelions for her.  At her burial, he picked dandelions and placed them on her grave.  She knew his love for her and his love for dandelions.  In the early days after she passed, it seemed our Lord was gifting us with small signs.  Growing in our yard was what appeared to be a gigantic dandelion.  In reality it was multiple flower heads growing from one stem.  We took one look, laughed, and said, "Emeric, this one is for YOU." God is good!

Dave's absolute favorite bird is the oriole.  A little over a week after Isabella passed we heard a bird singing (LOUDLY).  We looked out the window and an oriole was sitting on our backyard deck.  This had never happened before and we thought it was very cool. We went back to our daily routine and shortly thereafter we looked to see it had moved to the edge of the window.  This was causing quite a buzz within the house.  The next thing we knew there was a tapping at the front window.  We looked, and sure enough, there was the oriole, boldly tapping on the window.  It spent most of that day flying, tapping, and peeking in, from our back deck to the front porch window, to Dave's hummingbird feeder in the front yard.  Before Isabella had died we had conversations of her asking God for permission to send us little signs of her well-being.  One of the possibilities of signs we discussed was birds.  In particular birds in a way in which we would know it wasn't just typical bird behavior we had previously witnessed.  We counted this as one such sign.  We didn't see the oriole around much the rest of the summer.  We viewed this as further confirmation that this little bird visitor was a gift from Our Lord, via Isabella's request.

The day after Isabella passed we found great comfort in the following:

God is good, and I am spoiled. So spoiled. He shakes His loving head at me, I'm sure. Anyone who reads her caring bridge page or her facebook group page knows I am struggling with not feeling her, and I know you all probably prayed for us upon reading that. Like the pestered father who gives in to the persistent toddler, He gave me and our entire family, a great gift this morning. In the weeks leading up to her death, she and I had many conversations about her asking Him to allow her to show me/us her presence. One specific idea was she would ask Him to allow her to send lots of birds to us, as we love to watch them. This morning Dave looked out the kitchen window and in a tree counted 7-10 (depending on the moment) goldfinches (one of his favorite birds) in one tree. Praise be to God, for giving me more than I deserve.