Dear Olivia,
I can’t stand not having you here. I feel incomplete. I go from wanting to do an activity that I think will make me have happy thoughts of you to everything feeling pointless. I wanted to start working on the vegetable garden and your memorial garden, to at least designate the space and maybe determine the perimeter. I want to get it ready for our friends and family to come over and help make it a special place that gives all us happy memories of you. I thought I was ready and could do it. We went to Lowes, bought a few tools and then…I just couldn’t. Instead your dad worked on aerating the soil. I gave up.
You’ve been gone for a month and to me it feels like forever.
For being non-verbal you certainly had a loud presence. Your music toys and I miss you. I’m one of those rare parents that was never bothered by all the toy sounds, even the most annoying ones. I often go into your bedroom and hit a button on your bandstand or dancing robot just to make it feel more lively around here. Your brother thinks I’m a little strange when I go off and play with your toys, but he eventually comes along and joins in. It’s when I cry that he gets confused and asks why the toys are making me sad. I try not to let him see my cry all the time, but that’s sometimes hard. Bedtime is usually the worse.
Sage may have to sleep in momma and dadda’s bed till he goes off to college, and even then I’m not making any promises. The good news is he’s not complaining about it and neither is daddy. I think we both know how comforting and secure it feels to have our now only baby safe between us.
Tonight I’m left thinking about what it was like this day five years ago when you were so peacefully resting in my tummy. I was so stressed. No one knew what has going to happen to you, but they prepared us for the worse and yet we left the hospital together four days after you were born. As we walked out of that hospital we told ourselves there was no turning back. You were perfect for us just the way you were and all we ever wanted to do was make you the happiest little girl on earth.
Every night it gets a little harder to believe that your not coming back. This is my process. It hurts and then it hurts some more.
I miss you so much, Livy. If I could kiss your hand another hundred times like I did that last night at the hospital I would.
Always,
Momma
Dear Livy 
i am crying reading this.. your words are so elequent thank you for sharing i wish i could do something to ease all of your pain you are such a strong women you are the realist person i have ever had the pleasure of knowing i wish i could put it into words you touch my soul
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Dear Christina,
I have read all of your Blog and find it incredibly beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. I do not have adequate words to express our thoughts for you, Eli, and Sage during these weeks and months since Livy’s passing. We sent a donation in Livy’s memory to DREDF since we know there will be so much work to do in the near future. We must hang on to a brighter future for Sage and other children with disabilities.
I hope you can find moments of peace and happy memories. I know you are living a nightmare which just does not seem to end. While we cannot understand why Livy left us so soon, we do know her life taught us many things. Your and Eli’s parenting born of the disability rights movement, especially showed us how to find, nurture, and appreciate each and every child’s unique and beautiful gifts. And then there was Livy’s mega watt smile and those fabulous curls which made us all smile when we saw her or her photo.
Take care and give a hug to Eli and Sage from us. Thanks so much for sharing your journey with all of us. Catherine
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Chris, I remember the text messages we exchanged the night before you had Livy. This blog post brings me back to that time. I think I said something like “you’ve got this”. I believed it then and I believe it now. You will be Livy’s Momma forever. My arms are around you. I might go to Fenton’s on Friday and have a scoop of ice cream for Livy’s birthday. I’ll try not to cry, like I am doing now.
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