February 1st, my four year old niece died. Her mother suffered a stroke two days before she was due to give birth. They were unable to reach Sophia until Michelle was stabilized. Sophia suffered severe brain damage due to lack of oxygen. Two years later I heard of Australian researchers doing work with newborns with similar situations. They found that by putting a "cooling cap" over the head, the brain was cooled and prevented the damaged cells from dying and somehow encouraged them to regenerate and grow normally. Pretty incredible.. if only we had been Australian.
I always felt Sophia would have been bettered served if she had left with her mother. Sometimes medicine goes too far. There was no prognosis for Sophia, though; we only knew what to expect as she didn't grow or develop. I don't think that Sophia being here had anything to do with her, though. She seemed to be here solely for her effect on others. The full effect remains to be seen. I wonder how I'll explain to my children the cousin they didn't meet, maybe how they got their name.
Her life was so connected to her mother's death. Her death was connected to a new beginning. It's amazing to look at Maddie, Sophia's now seven year old sister, and know she's our only connection to Michelle - yet she looks so much like her father. I mention to Maddie often that she has her mother's beautiful hands and fingernails - she says her Grandma Wire tells her that, too. Sophia was Michelle's little girl - curly hair, facial features, and those same beautiful hands. Genetics can be a beautiful, yet cruel, thing. I hope that Maddie approaches me later about her mother. I'd love to tell her the funny and wonderful stories about her. I can still hear Michelle calling her Maddykins, moving Maddie's arms in a jogging motion as she sang "Gettin jiggy wit it... na-na na na na-na na..."
I saw Sophia three weeks before she died. She was watching cartoons in her chair, having had her morning bath. I lotioned up my hands and massaged hers. She relaxed her fists and stretched her fingers wide. She frowned as I rubbed her forehead and cheeks. She fell asleep as I unbraided her hair and brushed her long curls. That was our ritual the last few years. When she was small enough to fit in my lap, we'd read books. She would sleep as I rhymed to Dr. Seuss and explained the social commentary of Yurtle the Turtle.
I found myself having to run out of the visitation panting after talking with her nurse. It occured to me how much she must be hurting - and how much of a connection to Sophia she was for us. I wanted to ask her so much, but decorum got the best of me. She knew her inside and out. She cared for her on a daily basis. She drove four hours with her daughter to come to the visitation and funeral. She said that she could tell Sophia's health was declining these last few months. Her body was showing a great resisitance to antibiotics used to treat the constant pneumonia and bacterial infections she developed due to her condition. She said she'd yell at Sophia every day, "Not on my shift, Sophers! Not on my shift!" She didn't listen. They found her in the morning in her chair, probably watching cartoons after having her bath and her hair braided.
I comfort myself knowing that a suffering soul has found peace. Her breath comes easily. I hesitate to think of her as a little girl running and playing - people like to comfort me with that image. It doesn't, though. I don't think of Heaven as a city of souls operating as a euphoric earth. But it may be the thought of her talking and playing with her mother is too painful to bear.
