From a grieving Father...

Losing my daughter is without a doubt the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. Losing a child is not supposed to happen, right? Your child is supposed to plan your funeral and lay you to rest. In a perfect world that is true, but this is not a perfect world and we do not live perfect lives. Even though we make the effort, it is impossible for anyone to live a perfect life. It’s a fantasy, it’s not real, yet we strive to live that way, we can try to take control, manipulate circumstances, work so hard and tirelessly only to fall short, real short of the perfect life that we can create in our minds.

Well then all of this seems hopeless, right? If not everything can go my way then why try so hard, or try at all to make our lives go according to our dreams? Maybe that’s ok, perhaps trying to make something happen, to force our lives to go a certain direction and find the perfect path to happiness, prosperity and all these things we’re taught we need by society and culture to make our lives purposeful is not the right thing for us, is not my purpose or yours.

I would’ve never chosen this path, my daughter dying, who would? Well I didn’t, but it’s reality, my reality, my wife’s reality, there is not a thing her or I can do to change it. I am not the author of my story, not only can I not write my own story for my life but I also cannot rewrite it. So what do I do, how do I make this go away?

Do I pretend like it never happened? Do I choose to not talk about it? In other words do I live a lie? Do I put on a mask and be someone I’m not? Do I put on a facade? If that’s what people around me expect then they will surely be disappointed. I cannot apologize for my reality, this part of my identity that I didn’t choose, a daddy without his daughter, a parent without his child living in this world with him. I want to protect her, but she’s not here to protect, I want to hold her but she’s not here for me to hold. That’s not all I am but it’s a big part of my identity and I refuse to pretend that it’s not, and I can’t and won’t apologize for that, even if it makes others uncomfortable. Comfort is a part of this so-called perfect life we cannot obtain this side of eternity. Talking about my child whether she’s living or passed on will not be uncomfortable to me. I will not live according to societal norms and culture that teaches to stay away from discussing a taboo subject that should never be taboo in the first place. My daughter is my child no matter what, how dare I not talk about her if I want to, my love for her makes me want to.

I am not and will never be the author of my story, but the One who is, He’s perfect. Did God cause my daughter to die on purpose? Was her death part of His plan? I am not convinced of that. Then how did this part of the story happen if the author, God did not put it there? The better question may be why did God allow this? I’ve asked Him, no answer yet. I do know this, God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose for them. What I suffer now is nothing compared to the glory God will reveal later. Yes, I live an imperfect life according to the standard of society, I am wounded and broken, I have trials and challenges, it may be this way my whole life in this world. Is it hopeless? No, certainly not. I will be with Isabella in Heaven, her and I will not be separated forever, just like God and his children will not be separated forever, it’s just a temporary situation. While I’m waiting, I know that God’s grace is sufficient.

Bella's Dad.

The day I wanted to die…

Truthfully, there are many days that I have begged God to take me after my daughter's death, but there was a day about a year ago when I was in such pain, not physically but mentally. Losing a baby does something to you. There's this emptiness; there's this deep void you feel. You feel numb all over; it's mentally draining, and you feel like you have died inside. That day, I was in agony; I felt no hope. I had convinced myself that God no longer loved me, He hated me, He no longer cared about me. That's the only explanation I could come up with. Why would he take my baby girl away from me? That day, I was in such distrought my heart felt like it burst into a million pieces. I walked into Isabella's room and collapsed on her floor in tears. I think I laid there for an hour or so and wept and screamed. God, why? Why? Why do you hate me? I felt so alone and unloved at that moment. I screamed out to the top of my lungs God, I can't stand this pain I'm going through. Please, God, take me!! Please, I want to die!!

I remember I got off the floor in anger, walked into my office, picked up a vase I had sitting in there, smashed it against the wall, and then began to pick up everything and anything and shatter them out of anger. Then I slumped to the floor, and I began to scream and cry again. Sitting in a pile of glass, I picked up some glass in my hand and began to squeeze it in my hand. The glass started to cut my fingers, and then the thought entered my mind of harming myself. I wanted to die; there was no purpose for my life any longer. I looked at the sharp, broken glass in my hand and was about to take it and jab it into my arm.

Then, out of nowhere, the phone started to ring. I wanted to ignore it; I was such a mess.

I looked down to see who it was, and to my dismay, it was someone I hadn't talked to in years. It was a little 80-year-old lady that I used to go to church with in Jacksonville, Florida. I didn't want to answer it, but something prompted me to, so I picked up the phone and choked out, "Hello." She said, "Tracy, I was just reading in my Bible, and I'm praying for you right now, and I was reading "2 Thessalonians‬ ‭3‬:‭3, But the Lord is faithful, who shall stablish you, and keep you from evil." I feel that verse is for you right now. The Lord will keep you from the evil one, and she said Tracy, you're not forgotten. I love you; God loves, and I'm praying for you. Just know that." And that was the end of the conversation. I sat there in shock and awe of what just happened.

“Wow, God, you do care and love Me." I've heard of others where a phone call or a knock at the door has saved them, but I didn't think it would ever have to happen to me. I have never thought of hurting myself before until that day.

I just wanted the pain to stop. After the phone call, I picked myself off the floor, cleaned myself up, cleaned the glass off the floor, and thanked God for sending me a much-needed word. Sometimes, you never know who God will lay on your heart. I'm thankful God laid me on that sweet, precious little lady's heart that day. That's why I think it's crucial that when God places someone on your heart, you should pray for them immediately because you never know what that person may be going through. I'm unsure where I would be today if God had not, but I don't want to imagine it. Like the song says, where would I be if it had not been for Jesus? I still have my everyday battles, and I must constantly remind myself of that Bible verse and get the negative thoughts out of my head because they still like to creep up on me. I don't know why God didn't heal my daughter, and I don't understand why he allowed what happened to happen to my sweet girl. I may never know on this side of heaven, but I know one thing: there's a sweet baby girl I can't wait to see again in heaven who is waiting for her mommy and cheering her on to complete the race set before her.

God continues to mend my broken heart, and I'm finding a purpose again.

Oh, the story I will tell…

3 AM

3AM

I will never look at 3 AM the same way again. It was the moment when the doctor and nurses came in and told us that our sweet baby girl's health was deteriorating, and they needed to transfer her to another hospital for further care. For months after my daughter's death, I would startle awake at 3 am (and some nights I still do). I would look at the clock and have visions of that night. The doctor coming into my room and saying a bunch of words that I could barely understand or comprehend. All I heard is that she is stable for now, but it doesn't look good. (Then in my mind, I would replay the whole scene). The doctor walked out the door, and I said, ("What? How can this be? I just left her side 2 1/2 hours ago, and she was fine." The nurse said they were going to watch her overnight, that she was doing okay, and reassured me that she was in good hands. She said, "You have had a long day, (I just endured 48 hours of labor and 3 1/2 hours of hard pushing) go to bed, you will see her in the morning, and you'll have a long day tomorrow. Go to sleep.") My husband rushed out the door to be with her right away and then they came back into my room and got me out of bed, and wheeled me in by her. I looked at her, and my heart sank. Tubes and wires were coming from her all over, and her color was not good like it was 2 1/2 hours before.

3 AM, I prayed over my daughter and begged God to heal her. It was also the hour when they said there was a grim chance. They asked, "Do you still want us to take her and do everything that we can, or do you just want to let her go here?" I replied, "No, please take her. Save her. Do everything that you can to save her, please!" They said, "Okay," and rushed her off. I felt so reassured that she would be just fine. "God is going to heal her, I just know it." I had envisioned angels hovering over that ambulance as they took her off to do everything that they could to save my sweet girl and that the next time I saw her, she would be just fine. I was so positive that she was going to be okay.

3 AM will never be the same for me. For other people, waking up from a 3 AM nightmare is just that, a nightmare. They can just shake it off and go back to sleep. But for me, 3 AM was a real-life nightmare that I will never be able to wake up from. I can't shake it off and go back to sleep and wake up in the morning and say, "Oh, it was just a nightmare." I wish it was just that, a nightmare, but it's reality. My daughter is gone, and that is a forever nightmare I have to live with.

You may ask why do I remember 3 Am. 3 Am is supposed to be the time I would start pumping milk to feed my daughter that day. So when I woke at 3 am that's what I was thinking the nurse was coming in for but she didn't bring the pump with her she brought a whole team nurses and a Doctor with her instead to inform me the failing health of my daughter. So 3 AM was supposed to be a good memory not forever a bad memory. I write this with many tears falling down my face but this just half of the story.... next part is

WHAT HAPPENED........??

1/22/2023