Category - Grief, Love and Survival

It’s been four years.

Four years since the Athens Olympics.

Four years since the last presidential election.

Four years since Rebecca has been gone.

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September 11th means something different to me than it does to everyone else.

It’s still a sad day and one I would like to forget. A day where if I could turn back time and with full knowledge of the events to follow, make one single change, I would.

Frankly, I would like to forget this day, but I can’t. Because of the significance of 9-11 to the rest of the world, I am fully aware that this day is coming. I am painfully aware all day.

Three years ago, it was a day like today. Cloudy, warm, humid and threatening to rain. Our 8 month old baby, Rebecca was sick and had been for over a week. We decided to take her in to the ER rather than trying to wait out the rest of the weekend. Who wants to go to the ER on a Saturday morning, in the rain? I just knew I’d be given the ol’ “it’s just a virus” brush off. But I wanted to make sure she wasn’t dehydrated, so the two of us went.

I was right, I was told it was a “virus”, or that maybe she’d developed an allergy to breastmilk, which is why she’d been vomiting for 10 days. Um, right. We were in and out of that ER in one hour.

If I could go back and relive just one hour of my life, it would be that hour. I would leave the older children with a neighbor and have Philip come with us. I would insist that my baby was sick and that maybe they should at least do some basic tests. Bloodwork, for a start and a urinalysis.

It would have changed everything.

But I can’t go back. I can only try to go forward. I can only try to forget that on September 11, 2004, Rebecca and I left the ER with a fact sheet and a bottle of Tylenol. She should have been admitted to the hospital that night. It might have saved her life. Instead, today marks the beginning of the end.

I think Green Day actually said it best…wake me up when September ends.

The innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends

here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are

as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when september ends

summer has come and passed
the innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends

ring out the bells again
like we did when spring began
wake me up when september ends

here comes the rain again
falling from the stars
drenched in my pain again
becoming who we are

as my memory rests
but never forgets what I lost
wake me up when september ends

Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
wake me up when september ends

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I hadn’t expected to cry. At least not then.

Sitting at Pumpkin Girl’s dance recital, minding my own business, patiently waiting for her class to perform is not a place where I would expect tears. But grief has a way of sneaking up on you, reminding you of what once was and what could have been.

The youngest class was being led on stage, decked out in their poofy pink costumes and tiny tap shoes to perform to “Animal Crackers.” The music started and they did their thing, some of them dancing, some of them not, but each and every three year old just as cute as can be. That’s when it hit me- Becca would be three years old. Becca could have been up there, big brown eyes, chubby cheeks and two big dimples. That’s when I started to cry.

A few minutes later, the tears turned to smiles and laughter when Pumpkin’s class performed. She hit every pose and remembered each step, all while continuing to smile. I thought back to her first day of dance class.  There were tears that day, too.  Pumpkin wanted so much to be a dancer, but she was afraid to leave me behind and join the rest of class.  Her eyes welled up with tears as she struggled with her own emotions.  Her teacher knelt down to talk to her and reassure her, then gently led her off.  Pumpkin Girl grew up so much that day and now here she was, performing on stage as if she’d done it every day of her life.

Three hours later, we walked into a church in Pennsylvania.  The oldest daughter of our good friends was getting married.  She made a beautiful bride,  young and radiant and beaming in her gown.  She and her husband rarely left each other’s side during the reception.  Her mother was a little less radiant.  She was happy, but tired.  The stresses of the previous weeks had been building up.  And now, not only was her daughter  married, but the rest of family is going to be packing up and moving away in just two short weeks.  That happens in the Army.  We learn to love and then leave.  Pumpkin Girl perceptively pointed out that it was both a happy day and a sad day for our friends.   Emotions are funny that way.

I hadn’t expected to cry then either.  We knew we’d miss the ceremony because of Pumpkin’s recital, so I thought I’d be in the clear.  Surely I could get through the reception!  But then the father and the bride danced.  He held her close and she rested her head on his shoulder.  It was a wonderfully touching moment and then I heard the song.

I Loved Her First

Look at the two of you dancing that way
Lost in the moment and each others face
So much in love, you’re alone in this place
Like there’s nobody else in the world
I was enough for her not long ago
I was her number one
She told me so
And she still means the world to me
Just so you know
So be careful when you hold my girl
Time changes everything
Life must go on
And I’m not gonna stand in your way

But I loved her first and I held her first
And a place in my heart will always be hers
From the first breath she breathed
When she first smiled at me
I knew the love of a father runs deep
And I prayed that she’d find you someday
But it still hard to give her away
I loved her first

How could that beautiful women with you
Be the same freckle face kid that I knew
The one that I read all those fairy tales to
And tucked into bed all those nights
And I knew the first time I saw you with her
It was only a matter of time

But I loved her first and I held her first
And a place in my heart will always be hers
From the first breath she breathed
When she first smiled at me
I knew the love of a father runs deep
And I prayed that she’d find you someday
But its still hard to give her away
I loved her first

From the first breath she breathed
When she first smiled at me
I knew the love of a father runs deep
Someday you might know what I’m going through
When a miracle smiles up at you
I loved her first

As their dance ended, the bride wiped the tears from her eyes, and her father, a big Army colonel in his uniform turned away, clearly overcome with emotion.   Those of us watching had to swallow hard and dab the tears, too.  But again, emotions are a funny thing, and we laughed as dad grabbed his next oldest daughter in a bear hug and pretended to shake with sobs.

I thought of Pumpkin Girl and her first day of dance class and her performance on stage. Some day, God willing, she will be the radiant bride, dancing with her father.   I thought of Boo, perhaps a groom with Bip giving the toast as his best man.  I thought of Becca, who will not get to be her sister’s maid of honor.

It was a happy day and a sad day for everyone.  A day to remember the past and look forward to the future.  A day for tears of joy and tears of sadness.   A day not to be forgotten.

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No doubt you’ve seen the news clips about this General or that getting fired over the mess at Walter Reed Army Medical Center.  Congress is up in arms over the quality of health care for our wounded soldiers.  Now they’ve declared that they will be examining military hospitals all over the nation.   I wish they would.  And when they find out that this free health care is not all it’s cracked up to be, maybe they’ll turn their attention to the US military hospitals overseas.  Then they can come talk to me.   Or rather, I’ll go talk to them.  I’m only 12 minutes away from the US Capitol building.  I’ll gladly tell my story.

What I would tell them would cause jaws to drop.  I will spare you most of my rant because you really don’t want to get me going.  My list of complaints against the military health care system in general, and against the 121st General Hospital in Korea (a US Military hospital) specifically, is long and painful.  Misdiagnosis by military doctors is the common theme, followed by a correct diagnosis and cure by civilian doctors.  Pitiful tales of an ER that lets patients -we’re talking infants and pregnant women- go home untreated after waiting for hours. 

A bureaucracy that let our daughter die, then circled the wagons and threw obstacles in our path when we tried to get answers.  A legal system that curtails the rights of American citizens living overseas by limiting the damages they can be awarded.  A medical system that leaves the doctors in question with unblemished records.

We sued the US Government on behalf of our entire family over the untimely, negligent death of our daughter Rebecca.  They dismissed all the claims except one.  I guess we were lucky that our case went forward at all.  Most people think you can’t sue the government.  You can, but government has to allow it.  The fact that ours went forward tells you a lot about the merits of the claim.  Our case was settled out of court.  You’d think that was good, except that because we were living overseas at the time Rebecca died, our case was never allowed to go to court.  Neither a judge nor a jury was ever allowed to hear what happened.  Just two government lawyers in our living room one day.  The settlement that was offered was pitiful.  So what is the life of a child worth to the US Government?  Not enough to buy a house.

It wasn’t about the money, of course.  It was about getting answers and accountability.  I know there will come a day when our surviving children ask about what really happened to Rebecca.  And when they learn the truth, the whole truth, they will want to know what we did about it.  We can look them in the eye and tell them that we held the government accountable in the only way we could. 

Last night, Boo was sad about Becca in a way that he hasn’t been in a long time.  He has told me that he doesn’t like to think about her because it makes him sad.  I guess he’s been bottling it up and it was time to let it out.  So I held him while he cried.  And I cried out to the Lord, "Why?  Why did you do this to us?  Why did you take our beautiful baby from us?  Why did you take her and leave us behind?  How do we pick up the pieces and carry on, as if every day we didn’t wish this life were over?  How do we explain to our children how to trust in You?"

Sometimes I can say the right things.  Sometimes I am at peace.  Sometimes I am hopeful and courageous and strong.  And sometimes I am angry.  Angry at what was lost, at how helpless I am, at a system that failed us in every possible way. 

When Congress is done cleaning house in the military hospitals around the country, I hope they have some energy left.  I have a story I’d like to tell them.

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Today is the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows.  How fitting for me, because today is the day that our Rebecca left us to enter our Lord’s Heavenly Kingdom.  If there is anyone who knows my grief, it is Our Lady of Sorrows.

But I am not going to talk about the sadness today.  It is there and always will be.  It’s a part of me, now.  I will carry it with me, like a scar, until the day I die.

What I want to talk about instead, is joy.  Joy that Rebecca sits at Jesus’ feet.  She doesn’t feel any pain or any sadness.  Joy that she was such a precious gift from God.  Her time on earth was brief, but I am forever thankful that God chose our family to care for her.  She knew only love and happiness.  We were given the wonderful opportunity to love her and to be loved by her.

I also want to talk about faith.  Absolute faith that we will see her again.  God promised us eternal life if we just believe in Him.  And God keeps His promises.  How fitting then, that Rebecca’s Chinese name means “A thousand rainbows.”  Whenever we see a rainbow, we remember Rebecca and God’s promise.

What God did not promise was that it would be an easy road.  Only that He would be there with us every step of the way.  I have found that to be true.  I can bear all things through Christ who strengthens me.  I may not want to, but I can.

So today my heart breaks, but I am full of joy and encouraged by faith.  It is well with my soul.

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I am from moving boxes, labelled and numbered, from Disney and soy milk.

I am from the military quarters with shared backyards, flags waving and Taps over the loud speakers.

I am from the tulips in spring, the petunias in summer, and the warm red tomatoes from the garden.

I am from pancakes and bacon on Saturday mornings and macabowwows, from Mary Esther, Marie and Maria.

I am from too many words that tell enthusiastic stories.

From "She’s a very nice baby" and "ok, that’s enough."

I am from Catholicism, Mass on Saturday, snacks in the fellowship room, flowing Baptismal gowns.

I’m from Yongsan Garrison South Korea, Hong Kong, California, Mexican and Chinese immigrants, hopeful for a better life.  From ravioli and the Halloween Dinner.

From Daddy’s grandpa disguised as a girl, "That’s my knee!" and "Boo can’t reach it!"

I am from Mama’s half finished scrapbooks, portraits on the wall, digital pictures saved on disc and a drawer full of photo envelopes.

I am from hearts weeping through the night but finding joy in the morning.

I am from Love.

This poem is in memory of our sweet baby, Rebecca Maria.  We miss you sweetheart.  You have blessed us more than you know.

[I entered this poem in the writing contest at Joy in the Morning]

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