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.
