Liesl's Life Sketch

Matt and I wrote this life sketch in the days after Liesl died. Usually a life sketch at a funeral is a time to highlight the achievements and experiences of the deceased over a lifetime. What do you do for a baby who only got 15 months?  Liesl's life sketch celebrated her short, impactful, precious life with a day to day lens. My mom read it for us at the funeral. How I miss this darling, simple life with my baby. How I achingly miss her.

"Liesl became part of our family when, while living in Denver, the doctors told Matt, Robyn, Jacob, Nicholas, and Benjamin that they were going to get a new daughter and sister. While Matt and Robyn were very excited, the boys were a little unsure of what to expect from a baby girl.

A few months after moving to Provo, Liesl was born on November 12, 2013 (11/12/13, in case you didn't know or notice) to a mommy and daddy ecstatic to meet their tiny sweetheart. And, from the moment she was born, she was doted on by three older brothers who knew exactly how to show their love to a precious little sister.

Liesl was named for her Grandpa Gamette, Leland, who passed away when Robyn was 6 months pregnant.  Her middle name, Snow, is in honor of her Grandma Gamette's family as Snow is her maiden name.  

Our baby had blue eyes, full cheeks and lots of dark hair.  She was always an active, strong baby, quick to reach milestones and delight us all.  As her personality began to develop we found her to be adventurous, loving, silly, and everlastingly dear.  It was common to find one of her brothers snatching moments with her.  To smile at her, kiss her, or talk to her.  They were in love.

Liesl was blessed by her daddy on March 30, 2014 in this chapel.  The same chapel where Robyn and Benjamin were blessed.  

In light of Grandpa Gamette's passing our little nomadic family lived with Grandma Gamette from August of 2013 until July of 2014.  Liesl and her Grandma Gamette were able to spend many precious moments together.  

Last fall Matt and Robyn were able to take Liesl and the boys to Alabama to visit Matt’s family.  It was a wonderful visit where she met all of her Hutchison aunts, uncles and cousins as well as her great grandma Hutchison.  Liesl got to experience some of the traditions of Alabama football, enjoy a visit to the cabin, and play with Grandma Jan and Papa’s dog, Ginger.  

Liesl began to blossom into a toddler in the final months of her life.  She said words like “cheese”, “blankie”, “daddy”, “mommy”, and “grandma”.  She shook her head to say “no” and would definitely let you know if her answer was “yes”.  She loved to mimic her brothers singing the chorus of Angels we have heard on high.  Her smile was infectious and she was full of energy.  Liesl loved to dance and intuitively shook her little body whenever she heard music.  She loved playing outside, but, despite her name, did not like the snow.  She loved her blankies and her stuffed animals and could be found hugging them often.  She loved to be read to, even though she usually couldn’t sit still for more than a few pages.  Liesl had a zest for life and a love of her mommy and daddy.  She always wanted to be with them, so much so that Matt and Robyn wonder if she didn’t know that she would be leaving them soon.  She loved to hug them and gave the best “leg hugs” with an arm around each leg and her head tilted back to look at them.  She was a delight in every way.  An absolute delight.  

Despite the short months she was with us on this earth, or the relative time each of us were able to spend with her, every moment we got was an absolute blessing. We cherish her memory and will never forget our precious baby." 

Missing

I live my life in a state of loss. A loss so deep I can't possibly understand its weight and permanence. I can't get Liesl back. The confusion of that truth is too much to bear. We have lost someone irreplaceable. Someone perfect. I miss her bright eyes, her wry smile, her soft hair, her sweet earthy smell, her perfectly placed teeth, her tapered fingers, her bubbly toes, her puffy arms, and her dimpled legs. I miss her voice, her noise, and her movement. I miss her spirit. She lit up our home. 

How do you stop mothering one of your children? I wish I didn't know. I wish it didn't all just stop one day. No warning, no notice. Gone. I wish I didn't ache for her. I wish I didn't cry every day about a problem that will never go away. I wish that bitter, angry, jealous, hurt, and confused feelings didn't come into my heart. That we didn't have to know this pain and walk this painful, lonely path. I wish I could hold her just one more time. Just to spend a few more hours. I wish I wish I wish. 

I originally sat down to share these joyful, darling pictures of our beautiful Liesl and I am determined to do so. They show her as she was. Full of life, happiness, and adventure. 

Always loved and always missed.

Still

Liesl was full of life. She had a wry sense of humor and was always in motion. She was just becoming a full fledged toddler when she died. She held my finger when she walked with me, she smiled at everyone she loved, she cried at everyone she didn't know, she hugged my legs whenever she walked by me, she was silly, she threw tantrums, she was loving, exasperating, and just what I wanted her to be.  My life feels so empty without her. In my experience as a mom the family revolves around a baby until they turn 2. You simply are with them all of the time while your other kids come in and out of that constancy. She was my buddy.  

In the months before Liesl died I would look at my boys, whose childhood is such a dear and ongoing experience for me, and feel sad to see them growing up in their own ways. I was proud of their newfound independence and skill, but I missed the days when each of them was my toddler buddy. At those moments when they were riding bikes or reading chapter books like a pro I would look at Liesl and give thanks that my role as mother still included a baby. It felt normal and right that my boys were beginning the long process of growing into young men and it felt like such a gift to cherish the babyhood of our Liesl. 

I was so excited for the next few years. Thrilled to have my baby by my side. And yet it was not meant to be. We lost our girl so quickly and unexpectedly that I have a painfully sweet and tender idea of how the next few years were going to be. I had made plans and had hopes that will never be realized. It was a joyful path that lay before us. It feels as though our path has been destroyed, but I can't really say that seeing my three beautiful sons and my loving husband here with me. We are all looking at the future with heavy hearts as we try to pick up the threads of life and carry on. 

The stillness of life has been so excruciating since Liesl got sick. She was vibrant until the day came that she wasn't. Suddenly she was still. No movement, no laughter, not even awake. I miss still Liesl though. I miss my baby in any condition. She was beautiful in those final hours. Such a complete angel.

I wish so much that I could have her back and that we could resume the life we were living. In my prayers I always mention that I want her back. Sort of the way someone hints about a gift they want to receive. How I wish I could have her right now. My perfect gift.

Liesl's Story

Liesl was always a healthy, strong baby. She had a vibrant, strong spirit to match her body. She was a reassuring baby who reached milestones and gained skills just like any healthy baby. She was not a baby you think is going to die.

The day before she got sick she seemed to be starting a little cold.  At bedtime I gave her a little Tylenol and put a very normal, generally healthy baby to bed.  That night she did not wake up until 6 am at which time she babbled in her bed and fell silent again.  She babbled again at 7 am and again fell silent.  She often would "talk" and then be quiet for a while in the mornings.  When I went in after such silences she was usually sitting up or playing with her feet or loving on her blankie.

I felt some unease about her not being up by 7:30 (her usual wake up time), but because we had heard her talking two times that morning I really wasn't too worried.  It was going to be a busy day, so having a few extra minutes to make lunches and get ready seemed pretty good to me.  At 7:50 I voiced my surprise and concern that she still wasn't up.  Matt said that since he was heading out the door to work he'd go and get her up.  When he went in Liesl seemed deeply asleep, but when he picked her up she was obviously not well.  Her body was limp, she was not breathing and had no pulse.  I can't explain the horror of that moment or the ones that followed.

I called 911 and they talked me through CPR.  When the paramedics came they immediately took over CPR and pretty much whisked her out the door.  I came with them in the ambulance.  They were able to get her pulse back in the ER, but they said she was so sick that she would need to be life flighted to Primary Children's Hospital.  

When we arrived at Primary Children's they immediately took her in for a full exam and extensive imaging. My mother in law, Jan, was in Salt Lake City for a conference, so she met me there and was a welcome help at that time.  By the time they got her to a room I still had hope that somehow she would pull through.  That she might have brain damage, perhaps even extensive damage, but that she would pull through in some way.  She would wake up again and look at me with her beautiful, playful, blue eyes.  She would hold my hand again.  That I could push her in the stroller, cut up her food, talk to her, change her diaper, read to her, play with her, and enjoy the many joyful little things that made up every part of our day.  She never did wake up to see us again.  Liesl's brain had been severely damaged and she was in a true coma.  There are no medical answers to explain what took our baby.  Our doctors told us that it is uncommon, but not unheard of to never get answers.  

The rest of that day until she passed away is a blur of tears and true agony.  Matt and I took turns laying next to her in her bed.  We stroked her arms, nuzzled her nose, held her hands, and talked to her.  She was normally such a responsive baby, but she had lost all of that and didn't respond to anything we did.  I wanted to hold her beautiful body forever.  Moms are in the body business.  We grow them, feed them, clean them, and love them.  Her body was so sacred and also so irreparably broken.  I crave holding and loving her again.  After a day the doctors informed us that she had lost every brain function that can be tested when someone is in a coma except for one.  That one function was a ragged, non-productive breath and is considered the last testable brain function to go before someone succumbs to true, medical brain death.

Ultimately we decided to let her go.  Go to be with family and loved ones beyond the veil and to return to "that God who gave [her] life".  The phrase "He is not here, for He is risen" ran through my mind during our time in the hospital as I spent those final moments with my darling baby.  She was not there.  Wherever her gorgeous, amazing spirit was it was not lighting up her body anymore.  She was "our lifeless little bundle of joy".*  What an awful reality.  How I miss her.  How I missed her then.  How we will miss her for the rest of our lives.

Our hearts are broken at the loss of our dear Liesl.  In speaking of the Friday when the Savior died Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin said, "Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays."**  I feel so broken.  I miss her with all of my heart.  In the midst of our sorrow we have felt our Heavenly Father's love and light instructing, succoring, and guiding us, but this is not an easy task.  It is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.  

I love Elder Wirthlin's testimony in answer to the above quote, "But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come. No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come. In this life or the next, Sunday will come."  I know that our most joyous "Sunday" will be when we have our Liesl in our arms again.  I long for and live for that day.  I don't know how I will face what right now feels like a lifetime of "Fridays" without her.  

We love her forever and miss her always.  Our beautiful, angel baby.

*https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2012/10/because-i-live-ye-shall-live-also?lang=eng

**https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2006/10/sunday-will-come?lang=eng

Liesl

On February 14, 2015 our beloved baby girl, Liesl Snow, passed away in our arms.  Liesl was an adventurous, feisty, brave, loving, beautiful daughter.  She is named for her grandfather who lovingly greeted her on the other side.  She's the guardian angel of her three big brothers: Jacob, 9; Nicholas, 7; and Benjamin, 4.  They love her so much and will miss her every day.  Our darling baby was the "light and joy" of our hearts; she was a miracle in every way.  Liesl was taken back home so soon, but we thank God for every day we had with her.  We long to be with her again and live in faith that we will one day rejoice in the best reunion imaginable.  After a private memorial her body was laid to rest on February 17 in the Provo Cemetery only a few steps from her grandpa, Leland.  Her brief, beautiful life taught us so much about love and brought us immeasurable joy.  Forever and always she is our angel girl. In addition to her brothers, Liesl will be lovingly missed by her parents, Matt & Robyn; her grandma, Hilda; her grandparents, LeGrand & Jan; her aunts and uncles, and her eleven cousins. 

I will share more about Liesl in the coming weeks and months, but on this the one month anniversary of her passing I wanted to share her obituary.  Her death is an unbelievable tragedy and decidedly our greatest sorrow. I long for everything about her. We will miss and love her forever.  

Little Changes

Sometimes I try to do sweeping reforms in my life, but I am learning the art of the small change.  Just doing something rather than waiting for a "perfect moment" to do something pretty grand that never comes.  Here's to chipping away piece by piece and being happy that you simply did something.

Today's "something" is posting a few pictures of the kids.  Taken a month ago, but we won't dwell on that.  These four beautiful, healthy, strong, good kids.  They are trouble and crazy, too, but I feel so fortunate to have them.  All three boys started sports in January and so it's felt like life is one big race against the clock.  We're getting better at rolling out on time and filling the "inbetweens" wisely.  It's also been very very warm.  Climate change warm.  The lemonade of those lemons is that we have been outside riding bikes and eating sidewalk chalk (if you're Liesl).  The kids have so many friends on our street and I love it that they can spend time riding down our street singing "we are the champions" with Eli or playing a quick football game with Noah and Van.  I think anyone who knows the boys knows that the little ones are riding the bikes and that Jacob is playing the football. And Liesl is still just eating the chalk.  Life isn't perfect, in fact, it feels still very figuratively and literally messy, but bit by bit we seem to make forward motion each day.  I love these kiddos.