Number 1 (a)
I have dreamed about her. Mostly she was skipping and singing. Dark hair and blue blue eyes. She was gonna call me Granny (even though its the most archaic grandma name I know I was gonna love it).
In my closet is a book called What's in Grannys Purse? We we're going to sit and read it together. Read it so many times that we could say the words with out looking. And when she graduated from high school I was going to say "Do you remember when I taught you to read? The book we read?" and she would say some of those words and remember. Remember how much I love her.
We were going to hold hands.
She was going to call me when she hated her mother and I was going to remind her how much her mother loves her.
We were going to share secrets.
I was going to clap and cheer when she walked. Tell my friends how amazing she is. Secretly compare her to everyone else's little girl ...
I still dream about her. In my dreams she rolls. and walks. and sees.
But we are never going to know that little girl. She died when the doctor showed me the CT scan. Explained what the vacant places in her brain mean. Schizencephaly is schiz -- like broken, fractured, divided -- and encephly -- brain. She has a fractured brain. Polymicrogyria. Poly is many, micro is small -- too small, and crumpled and wadded and wrong -- gyria. What is gyria? Twisted. Dizzy. Sick.
I do not need to be a doctor to see that her brain is broken. To understand what these awful words mean. INSULTED. The teeny little bit of her that was to become her brain was insulted. Destroyed. Given bad instructions. and then it grew a bad brain.
I was holding her yesterday when I felt her first clonic seizure. Evidence of her defect leaking out of her brain and into her body. A body which will likely never walk, let alone skip. Housing eyes that will never see me, let alone read our book together.
But if you kiss her, really smootch her, she will grace you with a smile which says "I am in here, some bit of me is left in here." and I can't decide if that is the greatest tragedy of all.
I wonder if she will dream, too. I hope we hold hands in her dreams. Like we do in mine.
In my closet is a book called What's in Grannys Purse? We we're going to sit and read it together. Read it so many times that we could say the words with out looking. And when she graduated from high school I was going to say "Do you remember when I taught you to read? The book we read?" and she would say some of those words and remember. Remember how much I love her.
We were going to hold hands.
She was going to call me when she hated her mother and I was going to remind her how much her mother loves her.
We were going to share secrets.
I was going to clap and cheer when she walked. Tell my friends how amazing she is. Secretly compare her to everyone else's little girl ...
I still dream about her. In my dreams she rolls. and walks. and sees.
But we are never going to know that little girl. She died when the doctor showed me the CT scan. Explained what the vacant places in her brain mean. Schizencephaly is schiz -- like broken, fractured, divided -- and encephly -- brain. She has a fractured brain. Polymicrogyria. Poly is many, micro is small -- too small, and crumpled and wadded and wrong -- gyria. What is gyria? Twisted. Dizzy. Sick.
I do not need to be a doctor to see that her brain is broken. To understand what these awful words mean. INSULTED. The teeny little bit of her that was to become her brain was insulted. Destroyed. Given bad instructions. and then it grew a bad brain.
I was holding her yesterday when I felt her first clonic seizure. Evidence of her defect leaking out of her brain and into her body. A body which will likely never walk, let alone skip. Housing eyes that will never see me, let alone read our book together.
But if you kiss her, really smootch her, she will grace you with a smile which says "I am in here, some bit of me is left in here." and I can't decide if that is the greatest tragedy of all.
I wonder if she will dream, too. I hope we hold hands in her dreams. Like we do in mine.
posted by Bad Penny at 9:49 PM
8 Comments:
Oh, Penny, oh I'm sorry. I send you many hugs and many more.
Hang in there... if there is anything your distant blogfriends can do, anything, we will do it.
Julie ~
You are the best. There is nothing to do. But thank you for offering. And thanks for wondering about me. All kinds of good kharma going on there, my friend.
Penny
Penny-
I am so so sorry to hear this news.
If I were not half way round the world I'd come and give you a big hug. The problem with virtuallity is that when events take over in the real world, we are unable to give any support beyond our thoughts and wishes.
If I knew what to say, I'd say it.
But I am a bloke with all the hopelessness associated.
I hope those around you can give you the support you all need in this difficult time.
I will light a little candle for 1a.
Oh dear ... I have missed you so much, and now ... oh dear. (((((((((((HUGS))))))))))))))
-G
Stopped by via blog explosion. I wish you well that as well written and I have to say it hit me because what you described was what my grandmother was to me and she died last summer.
You will be a great granny, black boots and all.
Oh, god, Penny. I'm crying as I type this.
So, so sorry for your pain, the heartache, the injustice of it all.
Penny,
I've just now visited your blog here; I'm a member of LOSLI as well, and wanted to come over and check on you. This post is heartwrenching. I'm so sorry.
Bad Penny,
I'm very sorry about the little one. My thoughts are with you.
Abbie
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